


Bombs Away

by albawrites



Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Fingering, Fluff, Groping, M/M, Romance, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 12:44:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 68,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/albawrites/pseuds/albawrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fulcrum ends up on the Lost Light. Tailgate ends up vouching for him. Nobody is happy about it except probably them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Different

**Author's Note:**

> TITLE: Bombs Away  
> CHAPTER: One | Different  
> RATING: PG-13 for now.  
> SUMMARY: The Scavengers raid a dead ship. The Lost Light crew stop them. Fulcrum and Tailgate figure out exactly how lonely they are in the universe.  
> DISCLAIMER: None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to and it seemed like a good idea to pair up a bomb disposal unit with a bomb, especially when the words "cuddling with a bomb" was used by said bomb disposal unit.

The _Marching Riot_ had been an impressive Autobot warship, something that many ship enthusiasts and war historians could tell you. Many battles spent in that warship as it tore through enemy lines. It was a terror to be sure, a name that could give several Decepticons nightmares still. It was a powerhouse and it was intensely difficult to put down during the war.

While working on docking off to the port of the leftover warship, Fulcrum had found himself between two very excitable scavengers eager to blab about the terror of the Braxian Sector. Inconveniently, it'd been while Fulcrum was in stasis lock on Clemency, otherwise he wouldn't have to sit through how enthusiastic Krok was about telling the gruesome tales of the warship, and what a victory it'd been to bring her down just shortly before the war ended. Not that he'd been there, but Krok valued knowledge and reports; he had been, apparently, very satisfied to know it was taken out. Crankcase went on to mention how the _Marching Riot_ was one of a kind, no other ship was quite like her, and its defenses were insanely impressive and did you know it took gallons and gallons to fuel the ship.

So naturally, seeing the giant death ship of doom (as Crankcase eloquently put it), it was prime time for scavenging.

"I'm honestly surprised it's as whole as it is," Fulcrum admits as they step into the ship. "I mean, save for a few blasts here and there."

"Had to be precise shots. Otherwise the damn thing wouldn't have gone down," Crankcase points out. "Anything else would have been a waste of ammo."

"Why hasn't anyone taken this ship apart before, anyway?" Fulcrum asks. "War's over and all that."

"At the time, the _Marching Riot_ was at the head of the lines. When it was taken out, we had other things on our mind apart from taking resources." Krok lifts his head. "If I'm guessing right, there's plenty of energon still stored in some back up fuel tanks. Maybe some other bits here and there. The plating alone would be useful, frankly. And not a single spark out there to lay claim to it."

 

-=-=-

 

The _Marching Riot_ had been an impressive Autobot warship, something that many ship enthusiasts and war historians could tell you. Many battles spent in that warship as it tore through enemy lines. It had been once a name that brought cheering and clapping Autobots together, a shout for celebration, and a smug look as it blasted its way into Decepticons relentlessly. It was a powerhouse, and it had been a damn shame when it was put down during the war.

Not that Tailgate could really have any pride in any of that. He tried very hard to sound interested when Ultra Magnus explained what the ship was and its specs and it was a fortitude of justice. Rewind explained its history, right down who designed it (Tailgate already forgot the name) and how many floors it had (was it three or four) and how many Decepticon ships it brought down exactly. The pair got into an almost passionate discussion about the vessel, or at least as passionate as Ultra Magnus could get about anything besides regulations.

He really hopes that no one is planning on testing him on the facts later. Moreover, the way just about everyone looked prideful about the ship makes him feel strangely left out. He doesn't feel proud about a ship he had nothing to do with, but he's an Autobot now. So that means... what, exactly?

"The ship had several records of data. There's no point to look for survivors; the fight happened sometime ago. What we're looking for is primarily any information that could be provided about the Knights of Cybertron." Ultra Magnus pauses, then glances at Drift. "Or perhaps even the Circle of Light. We aren't expecting any trouble, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't go prepared."

"I know you just said that we aren't expecting any trouble, but I got a reading on the _Marching Riot_ ," Blaster announces. "Not Autobot, though."

Ultra Magnus's optics narrow. "Decepticon, I take it."

"You got it."

"Then we definitely go in _armed._ "

 

-=-=-

 

"Autobots," Krok grumbles at the annoyed report given by Crankcase. "Damn. At this rate, we can't even get the paneling. Misfire, how's the siphoning from the tanks?"

"Not gonna be done by the time that ship gets here, tell you _that_ , but what I can tell you is that we've got a decent amount I guess I mean I hope no one minds the tang of engine in their cube tonight--"

"It's fine," Krok carefully cuts in. "Don't drain it all, we don't have the time."

"Man, if they board the W.A.P. and see Grimlock, this is either going to look great or get _really_ awkward," Misfire muses as he works.

Fulcrum rubs his helm. "More like _bad._ " They haven't mistreated the Dynobot or anything, but Grimlock's a bargaining ship and... well, it's not like any of them have had a problem with Grimlock's presence. Hell, Fulcrum sort of found himself a bit attached to the big lug, which is _weird_ , but no doubt the Autobots finding them with one of their soldiers in a questionable mental state?

Yeah. Not so good.

The war might be over, but between Grimlock on their ship and the fact that they're probably breaking a few laws here and there probably makes this... really very bad. Escaping is sound pretty good right now.

"All right, line's been cut, W.A.P. is fueled up best we can! We're good," Misfire stands up from his work.

Krok nods and opens his commlink. "Spinister, you and Crankcase need to leave the medbay. Take what you've got, go back to the ship. Right now." He glances at the rest of his crew of misfits. "Let's go, double-time. I'm really not interested in getting caught in another crossfire so soon."

None of them are in disagreement from that. Just recently they'd recovered from the damage the D.J.D. had done, for the most part. None of them are eager to get caught up in battle once more. Not only would they lack the firepower, but there was no way that they could survive many hits.

The three of them take off down the hallway, making a turn. 

" _Hate to **alarm** everyone, but the Autobot ship is definitely docked. It won't take them long if they feel like boarding **our** ship,_ " Crankcase warns with a low growl.

"Noted," Krok acknowledges. "Are you on our ship?"

" _Spinister and I just got back--_ "

"Start the engines. If they start knocking, _you leave_ ," Krok orders sternly.

"... _Fine, whatever. Just get back here._ "

"You know, I really wish we had more plans like this!" Misfire laughs, a slight bit of nervousness seeping into his tone. "Running away. We could do that more often!"

Another turn down the hallway and the trio catch a glimpse of it: several Autobots heading down their opposite way. Their path isn't blocked, but they're about to be cornered in some undoubtedly awful firepower. Definitely more than _six_ Autobots, to boot.

Krok glances over his shoulder, then scowls before he addresses Misfire, "You know how you're not allowed to transform in the ship?"

"Well, yeah--"

"Do it _now_ and get out," Krok snaps at him. "Right now, Misfire!"

There's a brief pause as if Misfire is having a hard time deciding before he finally transforms into his jet mode, taking off down the hallway.

"Have I mentioned how much it sucks that I don't have a vehicle mode?" Fulcrum mutters, trying hard to not look over his shoulder.

Krok jerks his head down as the shots start. "At least once a day."

They're getting closer. Whether the give away is the weapons firing overhead or the sounds of engines getting closer or whatever, they're getting closer. Krok, still ridiculously protective of his misfit of a crew, is making sure everyone else makes it back at least. Figures.

But it's one of those factors that's admirable about him. Hell of a way to make a guy loyal.

Fulcrum glances ahead, narrowing his optics. He sees it; a panel access for shutters to come down. 

"You said the plating in this ship is pretty defensible, right?" the K-Con asks.

"Now really isn't a time for a history--" Krok grates out, scowling. But he knows Fulcrum wouldn't ask a pointless question like that. "Yes, yes they are."

"Good."

It takes timing, and he knows it. He slows down, just a bit, making sure that Krok makes it just far enough down the hallway. The tactician stops once he realizes Fulcrum isn't following him, turning his head to stare down Fulcrum.

There's a scowl in return as Fulcrum starts punching in commands to the panel. "Just. Just _go!_ "

"Fulcrum--" Krok starts, both scathing and _worried_ , not that it matters since the shutters close on him, sealing him away from Fulcrum and the Autobots.

Quickly, fear starts to rise in the K-Con; he's going to be stuck at the mercy of Autobots, after all, which means he's probably going to die in a few seconds. But he knows he couldn't force Krok to be stuck with him. No one else is going to die on his account, because he definitely hasn't forgotten about Flywheels.

" _You idiot,_ " Krok growls into the commlink, sounding more frantic than angry.

"Krok, you gotta go with the others," Fulcrum tells him, his voice getting tinier as he sees the Autobots approaching.

" _I'm coming back for you. When I can._ "

"L-look, Krok," Fulcrum tries to not let his voice crack as he watches a tall, monocular opticked Autobot approach with a very big gun. "Just go home."

He knows that Krok tries to get in a few more words, but he cuts off the line, and he knows the only reason why he isn't whimpering in fear is because he's sincerely too afraid to make a sound.

 

-=-=-

 

"Well, this just boring _real_ fast." Despite his thin frame, Whirl is able to swiftly kicking down the only remaining Decepticon in sight, peering down at him. "Just one of you? Hey, your head better explode real nice!"

"I'm surrendering-- I didn't even _shoot you!_ " the Decepticon shouts, both defensively and very clearly _afraid._

Tailgate glances between Whirl and the Decepticon. What he just saw was kind of interesting, odd. Different than he expected of Decepticons. This one just shut off the hallway to save his crew. He should probably not care that Whirl's kicking a downed Decepticon. They're the enemy, but...

"Maybe we should wait for the others?" Tailgate tries to suggest. 

Whirl peers down at Tailgate. "Hey, look. If there's a bomb that, you know, needs disposing? Great! You can make all the suggestions you want-- actually, don't, because it's not like I care. But anyway." There's a yelp from the Decepticon as Whirl slams his foot over his back. "This is what I do, see? Killing Decepticons."

Tailgate nervously looks down. There's just something incredibly discomforting about it, the way the seemingly unarmed Decepticon is just being beaten for... what reason, he really isn't sure.

Really, he isn't too confident he knows what these Decepticons were up to in this ship, anyway.

He tries to not wince when Whirl shoves the Decepticon against the shutter doors, pointing his gun at the smaller mech's head. "Two for one special. Let's see if I can shoot a hole in the door here while I blow your head off. I'll even do a countdown for ya. Five, four, three-- KABLAM!" Whirl doesn't actually shoot, but the Decepticon flinches, definitely letting out a panicked whimper. "Ha, just kidding! Let's start over. Five, four--"

"Stand down."

Tailgate feels his struts relax a little in relief when he hears Ultra Magnus arrive and speak.

"That one is K-Class. You shoot him, you'll take out all of us," Magnus states sternly. "So drop him."

Whirl looks over his shoulder, single optic narrowing slightly before he tosses the Decepticon at Ultra Magnus's feet. "Eh, it would have been cool if he went off."

The enforcer peers at Whirl before addressing the K-Class. "Stand."

For a moment, the Decepticon seems to have a hard time standing. Eventually, Tailgate gets close enough to give him a hand up. The K-Class glances at him, wide and dimly lit yellow optics looking confused before dipping his head in some sort of submissive inclination. "Um, thanks."

"This is gonna sound like a dumb question I bet, but," Tailgate starts, looking up at Ultra Magnus, "what's K-Class?"

"Turn," Ultra Magnus instructs the Decepticon, taking his wrists and snapping cuffs over them, which earns a noise of discomfort from the bronze-colored mech. "The K-Class are a line of Decepticons, reformatted to turn into bombs."

That only earns a startled, confused look from Tailgate. Why would anyone willingly turn into a _bomb?_ But he can understand why Ultra Magnus had been quick to tell Whirl to stop.

"Tailgate, I need you to disarm him," Ultra Magnus instructs. "Do you require help?"

"Hm." Tailgate looks down at the K-Class. "No, I think I can handle this."

"When you're done, take him to the brig." Ultra Magnus watches Tailgate begin to take the K-Class down the hallway.

 

-=-=-

 

"Drift, what's the status of the Decepticon ship?" Fulcrum hears the enormous blue Autobot speak into his commlink as he's guided down the hall.

" _The fight was brief. They managed to get free and escape. I have the name of their ship. Small tick, but I'll take it._ "

There's some relief as Fulcrum exhales from his vents. No casualties and the others managed to get away. Not that he's real proud about being separated from Krok and the rest, but he's glad they got away.

They pass by several Autobots. Too many for Fulcrum to even _want_ to count. He's _surrounded_ and in cuffs _again._ He hasn't decided yet if this is better or worse than Decepticon prison, but that tall Autobot -- Whirl, he thinks -- acted a lot like Decepticons he's met in the past.

"Tailgate, right?" Fulcrum tries.

"Hm? Yeah, that's me." Tailgate gives him a friendly pat on the arm before he's back to guiding him down the hall, apparently back to the Autobot ship.

"You're, uh. You're not gonna kill me, are you?" Fulcrum asks, smiling nervously. "I mean, the war's over and all."

"No, no! Nothing like that." Tailgate pats his back. "Watch your step inside."

Awfully polite for an Autobot. Fulcrum looks down and watches his footing as he steps into the Autobot ship. "Thanks."

It's stifling to see so many Autobots at work. The few interactions, admittedly, that Fulcrum's had in the past has either been _duck and hope you don't get shot_ and Grimlock, so everything else has been word of mouth, rumors, videos, and images. Still, the war's over, so it's not like they're going to do anything to him. He hopes. 

Really, it was kind of hard to tell for a moment there with that Whirl guy.

He recognizes medbays well enough to know when they arrive to it. There are a few mechs he can see from here laid out on berths, recovering from whatever battle they had from how long ago, he's not sure, but it definitely hadn't been due to Krok and the others. Regardless, there's one of the medics approaching -- one with a crap paint job to boot, too. Not that Fulcrum is probably one to comment, but with the way the paint is flaking off, it's a bit distracting. 

"What's all this?" the medic asks, frowning in disapproval.

"Just need to disarm him," Tailgate responds, in a way that's almost _too_ cheerful. "Do you have somewhere I can put him, Ambulon?"

The medic keeps his scowl, then nods towards one of the berths in the corner. "There are straps. I suggest using them."

"Straps?" Fulcrum jerks a little in Tailgate's hold. "Uh, you know, I should have mentioned this sooner, but I really didn't want to just in case one of you decided to shoot me, but--" Impatiently, Ambulon is grabbing him by the elbow and yanking him over. "I'm not armed! My payload's been removed already! I mean it, you really don't have to tie me down."

"Sorry." Tailgate rubs the back of his head, as if he isn't certain of how else to approach the matter. "It's just to keep you still. I'll try to not hurt you."

"Gee, thanks!" Fulcrum tries _really_ hard to not cower in fear as he's forced down onto the berth. The cuffs are removed, but he's strapped down anyway. 

It just. It reminds him a lot of Styx and when he was reformatted. He tries to keep his vents cycling air, to not hypervent at the idea of being reconfigured _again._

"Go ahead and open up." Tailgate pats his shoulder. "I don't wanna force anything that I don't have to and, uh. This is probably the first time I've had to do this on someone that turned _into_ a bomb."

Fulcrum doesn't say anything. He just bites down and reluctantly commands paneling to shift back. The glow of Tailgate's optics intensify and he's reaching in. It's not that the Autobot -- is it an Autobot, he actually can't remember seeing a symbol -- is gentle, but he's not rough either. There's a sense of confidence as he works his fingers in and explores his insides.

"He was damaged not too long ago," Ambulon notes, not quite curiously. "Someone's put you back together with scraps. Who'd repair a K-Con?"

Fulcrum isn't brave enough to answer him or even peep a word. He's afraid that if he opens his mouth, it's just going to either be noiseless pleas or wordless babble of nonsense that'd almost put Misfire to shame.

He tries to not squeak in something like ... dismay or embarrassment or both as Tailgate explores. It's a bit flustering, not much at all like a medic looking at him strictly from a health perspective. He jerks a bit under him, which earns a wordless murmur of apology from the white mech.

"Huh, this is..." Tailgate sounds puzzled. "Yeah, no. He was being honest. There's no explosive charge. The trigger's still there, but there's no payload. Um. Sorry, I suppose, for not believing you."

"S'fine," he squeaks out as plating goes back to its original positioning.

If anything, he's just glad to have the straps of the berth come off. He's not any happier being in cuffs, but it's better than being tied down.

 

-=-=-

 

There's a bit on his mind. It's weird to think, but he felt like it was probably necessary to apologize for the bit of invasion. The Decepticon didn't _seem_ that bad, from what little he'd interacted with him and seen of him. He just looked kind of disappointed as he was taken away to the brig.

At the moment, Tailgate found himself in a bit of a huddle with Ultra Magnus, Rodimus, and Drift, probably only for the fact that he had to report what happened: the lack of explosives in the guy that turned _into_ a bomb. That seemed to give Magnus pause, as his initial theory had been that likely the K-Class stayed behind to detonate himself while the rest of the Decepticons got away, but that doesn't seem true now with the facts. No, if anything, the K-Con stayed so he could buy them time to escape. This isn't the fearsome Decepticons that Tailgate had been educated on; no, this one was fearful and probably pointlessly beaten by Whirl, but sadly that's not really anything new and the fact that it's a Decepticon is a factor that seems to be overlooked. He was trying to help his crew. Maybe his friends.

He wasn't even armed with any weapons. Was he even a soldier?

And when Tailgate got down to it, he realized something that bothered him: he didn't even learn the Decepticon's name.

"He's a Decepticon, he can stay in the brig until we drop him off wherever," Rodimus says with a shrug. "I don't get what the big deal is."

"I don't see fit to release him from the ship," Ultra Magnus says a bit vaguely, his optics dim in consideration.

Drift frowns. "So what did these Decepticons do, exactly?"

"They're _Decepticons_. Do we really need a--" Rodimus starts.

"At worst, there was theft," Ultra Magnus states sternly. "Though we don't know what else his crew would have been up to."

" _Don't_ cut me off, Magnus."

Tailgate taps his fingers on his knees, feeling very forgotten about. "Um."

Three pairs of optics peer down at the bomb disposal unit.

"If you'd like, I could try asking him?" Tailgate offers.

"An interrogation might not be a bad idea," Rodimus mutters to himself.

"No no! No interrogations." Tailgate holds up his hands. "I mean, I think he'd be very easy to talk to."

"Tailgate, I don't think you understand the K-Class." Ultra Magnus tilts his head faintly. "They're fearless. If he doesn't feel like sharing anything, he won't. He'd withstand interrogation for quite sometime."

"Fearless?" Tailgate widens his visor slightly. "All I saw of him was him being afraid. I really don't think he was pretending, either. The worst he could do is lie to me, anyway."

"We should probably focus more on what we're getting from the _Marching Riot_ , anyway, and if the Decepticons took anything useful," Drift points out. "If we need to interrogate him, he's not going anywhere."

"That, I can already confirm. The medical supplies were ransacked and some of the energon left in the ship was siphoned. The data was left untouched, though," Ultra Magnus reports. "We're still sorting through the data ourselves."

"Then I don't think we have much of a problem yet."

Rodimus folds his arms.

Despite how it looked, though, eventually it was conceded. Tailgate waited in the same room as Magnus reluctantly found himself going to fetch the K-Con from the brig for the bomb disposal unit to question. He thinks back to the battle, Autobot against Decepticon, and how Chromedome almost lost Rewind. He thinks of that, and the cheers of how they killed 'Cons.

He thinks of that, and he finds himself staring into the tired but still fearful face of this K-Class unit that decided to stay behind and protect his crew in the only way he could.

"I, um." Tailgate leans forward in his chair. "I'm sorry about before. I don't think I got to say that."

"What, feeling me up from the inside?" the Decepticon remarks wryly which earns a choked sound from Tailgate. "That didn't bother me so much as being strapped down, but. Um. I guess I understand why. It's not like you have any reason to trust me."

That's an awfully reasonable response. Tailgate rubs the side of his helm. "What's your name?"

"Fulcrum." An awkward smile is awarded from the Decepticon. "You're a bomb disposal?"

"Guess it'd be more of a surprise if it wasn't written on my arm," Tailgate muses. "So... do you mind if I ask a few more questions?"

"Depends on the question, I guess." Fulcrum looks around the room a bit warily.

"Mostly, we're just wondering what you guys were doing on the ship, I suppose."

The K-Con shakes his head. "Just looking for supplies, honestly. The crew's been like that before I even joined; they scrape up what they can so we can keep moving. I swear."

Well, that sounds pretty self-explanatory to Tailgate. "But technically it was stealing, right?"

"It was Autobot property," Fulcrum admits with a sigh. "We didn't really have a whole lot of a choice, Tailgate. I don't know if you and the others will understand that, but we're kind of perpetually on the border of making the ship work, having enough fuel to go around, and just trying to find our way back. Yeah, it was stealing, but it wasn't for kicks."

Tailgate finds he has a lot more questions, though not really on the subject of whatever crime Fulcrum may or may not have committed so not really on topic of whatever it is that the command trio are looking for. Honestly, in his opinion, there's not much beyond theft, which is a technicality because it _was_ Autobot property. It isn't like, say, kidnapping and draining organics for fuel.

So he looks up at Ultra Magnus with a shrug.

The enforcer, having stood as still as an imposing statue, finally moves to address Fulcrum. "Where are the rest of your crew going?"

"Just..." The K-Classer is not successful in hiding the frightened squeak in his voice. "Just back to Cybertron."

"Do you know where they are now?"

"No?" At the way Magnus's optics narrow, Fulcrum lets out a quiet _meep_ before stating, "I really have no idea! I'm not the pilot!"

"U-uh, Ultra Magnus? Sir?" Tailgate pipes up. "You agreed that I could ask him the questions. I think you're scaring him."

There's a pause, then Ultra Magnus turns his head to face Tailgate. Not in anger or in annoyance, but in a nod of confirmation. "See what else you can ask of him, then. When you are done, I will escort him back to the brig."

 

-=-=-

 

What shocks him is knowing that big blue mech was actually Ultra Magnus. He remembers far back, Torque always yammering in excitement at the opportunity to take out one of the Autobot commanders. For the most part, Fulcrum had tuned him out, but it was impossible to ignore his eerie cheer and showing off the name on his plating. He's relieved that Tailgate decided to step in gently and take over. Not that Fulcrum had much more to add; it seemed like the Autobots were desperate to see if he'd actually committed any other crimes. 

He was really tempted to snarkily respond about his conviction from the Decepticon justice system, but it seemed unnecessary to bring it up. That and Tailgate had been very polite.

At the moment, Fulcrum finds himself back in his cell, sighing and sitting on the humbly sized bench and staring at his cuffed wrists. He tries hard to ignore the others in the brig. The intense glare from the big Autobot with treads on his back makes him want to shrink away more, as if that was physically possible. Any other Decepticons present are, thankfully, disinterested in any kind of conversation.

For now, it's waiting.

Briefly, he wonders about Krok and the others. Frankly, it'd be suicide if they came looking for them. Begrudgingly, Fulcrum admits to himself that he wouldn't blame them for not trying to stage a rescue. They're a crew down to five -- if one felt generous enough to include Grimlock -- and there'd be no way they could face off against a crew of _200._ All just to get back a coward who got one of their own killed anyway because he was too scared to tell Krok the truth.

Yeah. That's still kind of hanging over his head.

He sighs and leans against the side of his cell. At the very least, he can tell himself that he'd done some good. They're away, maybe far away and getting back to Cybertron.

Some hours trail by and Fulcrum fully does not expect to be addressed for sometime. Maybe a few days.

To his surprise, the cell is approached by Ultra Magnus again. Fulcrum grits his teeth and tries to not flinch immediately.

Magnus gives pause and peers down at him before opening the cell. "Stand in front of me. When the door closes, you'll walk in front. I'll tell you where to go."

Huh. All right.

The K-Con stands and obeys the instructions without fuss, keeping his head down, instinctive from his time in Styx. As ordered, he goes where he's told. Up, take a right, now a left.

And eventually, he finds himself in the captain's office. What's his name? Rockimus? Something like that, sure. Him and the white mech that really, really looked familiar but Fulcrum really just couldn't place it.

"After a thorough investigation of the _Marching Riot_ , I was not able to determine anything more than theft," Ultra Magnus states, his tone firm as he addresses the captain. 

"We really didn't get anything useful out of him?" The captain shrugs and glances at the white mech. "Looks like another dead end," is spoken with a hint of apology, though for what is lost on Fulcrum.

"We'll keep looking," the swordsmech responds. 

The captain folds his arms and taps his fingers impatiently. "Well... what do you guys think?"

"He's still a criminal, technically." Ultra Magnus lifts his chin to glance at the other two Autobots. "A crime is still a crime, despite the motive. He can serve his sentence in the brig."

"Well, I was talking to Tailgate since he's interacted with him the most." The swordsmech rubs his chin. "And believe me, I know about the K-Class, but without his explosive charge, he's really not a threat to us. I think we can trust Tailgate's impression of him and I think there's some energetic potential in this one! I say instead of cramming him into the brig, maybe he could do something else. A community service of some kind."

"Rodimus--" Ultra Magnus starts, frowning.

"It's a legitimate suggestion. If this little guy isn't going to explode, what can he do to hurt us?" Rodimus shrugs.

_Little guy?_ C'mon, he's not that short. Fulcrum tries to not grumble.

"How's this? Community service on the ship with a curfew. So by a specific time, he'll have to be escorted back to the brig. A little bit of both suggestions. Let it never be said that I'm not merciful to a 'Con or two."

Fulcrum raises an optic ridge. He really isn't sure what to make of that statement; it has this strange egotistical implication, but then again it sounds better than being in the brig for who knows how long. "So, um. If you don't mind my asking, what kind of community service should I be doing?"

"Guess that depends on you. What's your skill set?"

"Before I was reformatted, I was a technician," Fulcrum offers. "So I guess if you need something fixed on the ship or maintained, I could do that. I'm, uh, not really built for combat or even that much labor."

Rodimus considers for a moment, then states, "With supervision, I think that'd be plausible. You'll get rations like everyone else."

"Um. Thank you," Fulcrum responds warily. He supposes it might be too much to ask to get the dents made by Whirl hammered out or something right off, but maybe later.

Not that he had hoped for much, truthfully; this is better than anticipated, especially considering he admittedly knows nothing about how the justice system functions for the Autobots. Though Ultra Magnus doesn't look very impressed -- though something about that perpetually grim look suggests he usually isn't -- Fulcrum feels relieved. This isn't what he wanted, to be stuck on an Autobot ship and separated from Krok and the others, but it's better than dead.

 

-=-=-

 

It's a rotating roster that's been set up. True, Tailgate is already on friendly terms with the Decepticon, in order to make sure that his _naivete_ isn't exploited or something -- not Tailgate's own words -- he isn't consistently keeping an optic on Fulcrum. He supposes it makes some sort of sense; he doesn't feel very threatened by Fulcrum's presence and it'd be best if others had a fresher perspective on him. For the first shift, he finds himself with the K-Con, looking up at the slightly taller mech.

"Looks like things kind of worked out," Tailgate offers to him, trying to keep his tone optimistic.

"Yeah, I suppose," Fulcrum responds. "I think I probably owe you a bit of thanks for helping me out during all this."

"It's all right. Uh, to be honest, you're not really what I expected out of a Decepticon."

There's a wry grin, more relaxed than the nervous expressions the K-Con had before. "I get that a lot, honestly."

Briefly, it goes silent as Tailgate just watches him get to work on one of the consoles. As far as Tailgate can tell, it's very dry work, probably something that any of the others in the ship can do: running diagnostics, clearing up cluster data, and moving on to make sure the consoles run cleanly. Still, it's community service; it's going to be basic work, he supposes.

"Hey, if you don't mind my asking, Tailgate," Fulcrum starts, glancing at him curiously, "I don't see an Autobot symbol on you at all. Are you a neutral or--?"

"Oh, no. I'm an Autobot." Tailgate rubs the back of his helm. "During my ceremony, I never really got the symbol properly carved in is all."

"Ceremony?" Fulcrum asks, confused.

"Oh! Right, you wouldn't know." Great. Tailgate sighs. "I've been, uh, kind of... out of it for six million years."

At first, Fulcrum snorts before letting out a short laugh. "Yeah, nice try." A pause, then the K-Con looks down at him. "What, really?"

"Yeah, really." Honestly, Tailgate just tries to not sigh; it's not really a topic he generally wishes to focus on right now.

There's something like a sheepish look from Fulcrum. "Sheesh, and I thought I was out of it for awhile..."

"You too?" Tailgate perks up slightly.

"I don't know how long," Fulcrum admits, "but on Clemency, I was in stasis for a few years. So, I kind of missed some things here and there myself. Anyway, so basically, you _just_ joined the Autobots?"

"Yeah. The code was _painful._ "

Eventually, Fulcrum pulls his hands away from the console and stares at Tailgate for a moment before he just ends up blurting out, " _Why?_ "

That's probably a fair question, Tailgate supposes, considering they're technically on opposite sides. Right? Sort of? "Well, I mean-- After some of the history I saw of the war, it... seemed to make the most sense."

"Did you join before or after the war was over?"

"...After?"

Fulcrum goes silent. For a moment, Tailgate almost feels like... fretting? Worrying. Something like that. There's a bit of anxiety in his chassis building, his spark wrenching. At first, he felt that the description of the Decepticons made the most sense, but after the history Rewind gave him, wasn't the Autobots the most natural choice? Then again, he supposes maybe Fulcrum didn't see it that way. Was he proud of the Decepticons? How much of a patriot was he?

"I guess..." Fulcrum folds his arms. "I guess I don't understand the point of it. The war's over, Tailgate. Why would you have to pick a side?"

"There are reasons." Plenty of them that Tailgate dwells on. "Though I guess it doesn't make much sense when you put it that way, but I really do have them."

"I don't regret what I am. Though I guess it helps I was forged a Decepticon." Fulcrum looks back to the console. "Uh. Sorry, I guess it's none of my business."

It's not a topic Tailgate's entirely excited to discuss. It's not what he'd been hoping to talk to Fulcrum about, anyway, but it does force him to stop and just. Think about it. The reasons why he decided to be an Autobot instead of a Decepticon. The reasons _why_ he wanted to pick a side in the first place when the war wasn't even happening but people still treated it as if it was when it was convenient. And to some degree, he wants to know what Fulcrum thinks of both sides, because he doesn't seem to have a malicious streak like he assumed Decepticons would have. 

Why would he have to pick a side? Tailgate knows, and it's a petty reason. It's not something he feels comfortable addressing out loud yet.

"It's all right," Tailgate assures quietly. "Why don't you tell me a bit about your stasis lock?"

 

-=-=-

 

At the end of his shift, Fulcrum sits in his cell. No cuffs, and he's grateful.

He finds himself staring at the floor and tries to not dwell on factions, the situation he's stuck in, and what the hell he's going to do in the future because he isn't even sure yet how long his damned community service is.

He'd told Tailgate about why he ended up in stasis lock, or at least the bare minimum. He didn't explain the entire background of the K-Class, his own conviction, or anything detailed; some part of him felt like he couldn't bear the further judgment and he needs to clutch this tiny bond he has with the barely Autobot who slept six million years right through war. Fulcrum couldn't say that he didn't turn into a bomb due to fear, just that it was a malfunction, which isn't too far from the truth he supposes. He spoke a bit about Krok and the others, but not enough to explain the Decepticon Justice Division and what a coward he'd been then, too.

There are few things in life that Fulcrum is proud of, and he'd rather not give Tailgate a bad impression. He doesn't have many friends in the universe, and right now in this ship he only sort of has one.

 

-=-=-

 

At the end of his shift to keep an eye on the K-Con, Tailgate sits in his room. Cyclonus is elsewhere and it's a tad lonely, but that's not a new sensation.

He sits in the _Lost Light_ , a ship that was originally flown by neutrals who refused the war, which now holds different kinds of soldiers and grunts and nobody that really belongs at all. Tailgate considers, and he knows why he couldn't really admit why he wanted to be anything besides what he was, and it was a silent need to fit in. He sincerely likes the crew that he's with, but nothing can replace what he once knew. Tailgate's original friends are all most likely dead and gone, lost to time and war that he had nothing to do with.

And he picked a side so he could belong again somewhere.

There are many achievements in his life and it doesn't seem to matter now, because it all belongs in memory. Tailgate remembers everything he's ever done, and no one remembers it at all. He couldn't work the courage up to admit his weak reason to want to be anywhere because he has no where to be. There are few friends for him in the universe, and the first Decepticon forged he'd met didn't match at all what he'd been educated on and he couldn't swallow the idea of his judgment either.

Tailgate shuts off his optics and lays on the berth, thinking about the millions of years he'd missed and the few that Fulcrum had and how much time they probably both had to make up for it.


	2. Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fulcrum ends up on the Lost Light. Tailgate ends up vouching for him. Nobody is happy about it except probably them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TITLE: Bombs Away  
> CHAPTER: Two | Reflections  
> RATING: PG-13 for now.  
> SUMMARY: Tailgate wants to learn more. Fulcrum gets the case of the cowards. Ultra Magnus and Krok chase each other a little.  
> DISCLAIMER: None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to and it seemed like a good idea to pair up a bomb disposal unit with a bomb, especially when the words "cuddling with a bomb" was used by said bomb disposal unit.

" _You idiot._ "

" _Krok, you gotta go with the others_."

" _I'm coming back for you. When I can._ "

" _L-look, Krok. Just go home._ "

It's the last recording between the two Decepticons.

Off and on, he listens to the recording, as if trying to figure out the final piece of a puzzle. Ultra Magnus remembers the K-Class well, when the Decepticons reformatted several of their numbers into bombs. They were infamous for being fearless, seeking death for the glory of the Decepticons. When he concluded that the K-Con had cut off the passageway to the rest of his crew and stayed behind, Ultra Magnus suspected the K-Classer was prepping himself to be shot and killed. Tactically, it made sense. It sounded like something he'd do.

Instead, he stayed behind, no explosive inside. He cowered, he accepted his community service, and Magnus is still trying to work out _why_ and if the K-Con was up to anything.

In the end, he isn't so sure there is a plot. 

But he knows a few things. Drift got the name of the ship. The _Weak Anthropic Principle_. That's something. 

What to conclude from there, Ultra Magnus has yet to determine, but if Fulcrum's commanding officer keeps his word, they need to be prepared for that possibility.

 

-=-=-

 

Over the course of time, Fulcrum's found himself stuck with a few of the other various Autobots. For the most part, no, none of them had really been as pleasant or nice as Tailgate. Not that Fulcrum was expecting much, honestly; sure, the war's over, but no one's rushing to be buddies with each other anytime soon, that's for damn sure. Some have been nice at kind of arm's length, kind of like Skids who's sort of weird but decent enough. Brainstorm is _damned_ irritating, blabbing about how he's better suited in the lab instead of babysitting a dumb Decepticon and Fulcrum couldn't possibly understand the magnitude of his important work, blah blah blah. Whirl is a bit like some Decepticons he's met and put up with before, and he's found himself grumbling and grinding his teeth as he has to swallow down remarks and stupid nicknames like _Failcrum_ and _Dud_. Not real endearing.

Then there's Chromedome, who doesn't say anything, and just stares at him. When someone named Rewind is supposed to watch him, it's just Chromedome, and Fulcrum doesn't get it, but it's, uh. Kind of unnerving? Yeah, no, Fulcrum gave up any pretense of trying to even talk to him.

He isn't so sure when is the worse time here. Whether it's the community service, which isn't just limited to clearing up data clusters but even cleaning up messes -- which, sometimes, he sort of gets the impression that it's on purpose sometimes -- but also when he's in the brig when the big mech (who is _Fortress Maximus_ , he was told, which really makes Fulcrum confused, why the hell did they lock up a prison warden) who's glaring at him and making it really difficult to recharge or when he's even just _refueling_ at the bar, since most everyone avoids him.

Jeez, it's like they think he'll explode or something.

It's not like this is the worst he's ever put up with. It's a downright cruise ship in comparison to his time in Styx, after all. Fulcrum would take this several times over in comparison to that. It's not _great_ and he'd rather be back on the _Weak Anthropic Principle_ with everyone else, but he knows he's had much, much worse.

That and he knows when the best time is, and that's usually when Tailgate is around. Either just to say hello or because it's his turn on the roster.

At the moment, he finds himself in the well supplied bar, watching the gathered Autobots socialize amongst each other. He isn't ignorant to the feeling of loneliness in him when he sees them share jokes and stories; there are friendly smacks on the back, nudges, and hushed chuckles they give each other. Short of the happy bunch of weirdos on the W.A.P., Fulcrum can't really remember the last time he'd had that kind of comradery with many others.

Though he's not really alone in, uh, being alone? There's the guy with a broken horn or some such, Cyclonus. No one seems to bother him, but he gives off this real threatening presence, so Fulcrum isn't interested in being a bother.

In the end, it's better to duck his head down and keep to himself.

To be honest, he'd been kind of hoping to see Tailgate, but he can't expect that the bomb disposal unit is always going to be available to spend time with him. So, at the moment, Fulcrum waits by the bar, trying to ignore the dirty looks he's being given. When he's given his glass, the bartender doesn't really even spare him much of a glance.

"Gee thanks," he mutters to himself, picking up the glass of energon.

There's some louder, nastier snickers going on at one table as soon as he takes his energon. Fulcrum glances in the direction of the sound as one of the Autobots, Sunstreaker, gives him a sharp grin before turning his attention back to his friends.

Warily, Fulcrum looks at the contents of his glass. Yeah, okay, that wasn't real suspicious or anything.

He considers his position for a moment before kneeling down and looking about. Ah, there; he picks up a straw from the floor.

"Hey. Pssst, Bob," Fulcrum whispers, waving the straw and trying to get the Insecticon's attention. "You see this, buddy?"

With a purr, Bob perks up, optics lit as it follows the sight of the waving straw.

"Go get it!" Fulcrum tells him in a hushed voice, flicking the straw across the room.

Deeply interested in the straw, Bob scampers off after it, barreling into another table in the process. Cursing and chasing after his pet, Sunstreaker stumbles after Bob. 

Fulcrum keeps himself crouched as he inches up to Sunstreaker's table, switching their drinks. Satisfied, Fulcrum edges back until he goes to find his own table to sit at.

"There we go," he mumbles to himself, wiggling down into his chair as he sets to refueling finally.

The energon is surprisingly tasty, though to be fair he hasn't had a proper refueling for sometime now. Misfire siphons as best as he can, and he's _good_ at what he does, but when you get down to it most of the time it doesn't burn cleanly. This, though, is refreshing. The last time he's had something this clean through his filters, it was probably _before_ he was arrested and taken to Styx.

He briefly feels a little guilty. Sure, he's more or less arrested here, but he's getting a proper energon ration and the W.A.P. is who knows where; they're still surviving on scraps of the galaxy and Fulcrum's sitting and drinking decent fuel. Yeah okay, most of the ship's occupants either hate him or just straight up don't trust him but maybe he just can't help but worry and feel a bit responsible for them in a way, considering all of the crap he put Krok and the others through. He wonders quietly if they're okay and if Grimlock isn't being too much of a handful.

Fulcrum peers down into his cup when it's empty. It's probably a tiny bit pathetic of him, but after going so long without a decent ration, he tips the glass in order to try to get out the last drops before just using his index finger to try to get the last bit.

"Hey, Fulcrum!"

The K-Con turns his head while trying to scrape out any remaining droplets, watching Tailgate approach. Abruptly, he feels sort of embarrassed; one of the only mechs here to give him the time of day and he's giving off kind of a pitiful impression no doubt. He quickly puts his cup down and scratches the back of his neck.

"Hey yourself, Tailgate," he greets back sheepishly.

"Do you mind if I sit here?"

The question probably shouldn't surprise him, but Tailgate's friendliness and sense of manners throw Fulcrum for a loop. A lot of Decepticon grunts aren't exactly all up on their _please_ and _thank you_ ; Krok's probably the closest he can think of.

That and really? Tailgate doesn't have to ask. Maybe it's kind of a small, dumb thing to be impressed by, but there you go.

"Uh. Sure. Make yourself comfortable," Fulcrum responds with a shrug.

Next to him, Tailgate slides into a chair before offering up a glass of energon to Fulcrum.

"No, no. I, um. I'm fine, really." Fulcrum grins hesitantly. "It's just been awhile since I had energon as it should be."

"It's okay if you're still hungry. I can get more for myself a little later," Tailgate assures.

Well. Hell, who is he to refuse? Fulcrum takes the cup; this round, he'll take his time.

"Thanks," Fulcrum murmurs before he takes a sip. "If you don't mind my asking, why don't you sit with the others, Tailgate?"

"I was kinda hoping I could ask you a few more questions," the slightly smaller mech admits, folding his hands together as he twiddles his thumbs. "If that's all right."

"I-- sure? What else do you want to know?"

At the permission granted, Fulcrum watches Tailgate's optic brighten a little more. "For starters, you weren't always a bomb, right?"

"Nope. Wasn't a bomb when I was forged. That's a little too crazy."

"What did you turn into before?"

Fulcrum pauses, thinking back to his old form. He misses it, but it would take a lot of effort to get reformatted _back_ to his old self. Something that's probably never going to happen. "Eh, nothing that impressive. Like I said before, I was a technician before I was K-Class."

"What kind of work did you do during the war?"

"Cyberforming, mostly. I-- look." Fulcrum rubs his thumb over the top of his glass. "Not to be rude, I mean. You've been really nice to me and I appreciate it, but why are you so interested in me?"

For a moment, Tailgate is quiet. Eventually, he leans on the table, propping his chin into his hands. "When I first got on this ship, I was told what the war was about from someone. The way he said it, it made me think that maybe I ought to be a Decepticon at first. That they were revolutionaries. It made sense, considering what I was told. Then someone else showed me history videos on what happened, what _really_ happened. I was upset because I was told one thing and shown another. I thought I sorted it all out, that the Decepticons... that they were the bad guys." His visor dims a little, as if embarrassed. "Then I met you, and now I don't know what to think."

There's a wry smile from Fulcrum. "You ever ask a Decepticon about the war before?"

"No, not really," Tailgate admits, mildly embarrassed. "I guess no matter who I ask, it's going to sound biased, isn't it?"

"War's sort of a complicated business that way, I think." Fulcrum set the half-empty glass onto the table and faces Tailgate entirely now. "I wasn't there in the beginning; I was forged during the war. But here's what I do know: the Decepticons wanted change, because many of us refused to be part of a society that served only those on the top of the food chain. The government was corrupt and we wouldn't sit by and be ignored. So Megatron led a revolution. In my opinion, things started out as they should have: we were overthrowing our oppressors and we were going to revolutionize everything. The Autobots? I think they got scared at how fast things were changing and wanted to slow down the pace. There was a disagreement and it got out of control. Don't get me wrong; I know the Decepticons are full of people who took advantage of the war to be _awful._ " He shakes his head. "But I'm pretty sure there are Autobots like that, too. Maybe not as much, who knows. I'm not ignorant to the fact that there are psychopaths in the Decepticon army, though. Just, well. Not all of us are like that."

" _Now_ I figure that, after meeting you," Tailgate points out with a hint of amusement.

"Not that it really matters anymore. War's over." Fulcrum shrugs. "And I guess by the looks of things, the Autobots really did win."

"I don't know about that." Tailgate looks up hesitantly. "Do you... hate the Autobots?"

There's a pause, then Fulcrum half-shrugs. "I don't think that I do. I'm _wary_ as hell about them, but I don't really hate them."

The conversation is interrupted by a loud retching noise. Unable to help it, both Tailgate and Fulcrum glance back to Sunstreaker's table, watching morbidly as the yellow Autobot starts to purge his tanks to the floor. Fulcrum exhales quietly; yeah, probably a good thing he made the switch when he did.

"Looks like I'll probably have to clean that later," Fulcrum remarks a bit glumly. "Awesome."

"I wonder what happened... Is your energon okay?"

"Uh. It's fine. I'm not sick." Fulcrum laughs a bit awkwardly. He's not too sure how to approach the subject that he sort of swapped his energon with Sunstreaker's initially because he was suspicious of the laughter from before. And it seems like his instincts were right; they almost played a nasty prank on him. "I'm sure he's gonna be okay."

Tailgate nods. "Yeah, I suppose so. So... How much longer until you have to get back to work?" He finally pulls his optics away from the scene as a few of the other Autobots go to check on Sunstreaker.

"I'm thinking about fifteen minutes. I had enough time to refuel and then, well... whatever." Fulcrum shrugs. "I'm supposed to report to the medbay after that. Which I'm really not looking forward to. Something about a proper medical examination."

"I really wouldn't worry about it. They won't hurt you, Fulcrum."

"Guess as long as no one straps me down in there," Fulcrum grates out. At the way Tailgate shrugs his shoulders and looks at the table, the K-Con winces and rubs the back of his helm. "Sorry, that's not-- It's not your fault. I just have some bad associations."

Though Tailgate clearly has that curious glint on his optics again, Fulcrum's grateful that the bomb disposal unit refrains from asking. Instead, a hand is gently placed to Fulcrum's forearm. "If you don't have to go back anytime soon, then I sort of have a favor to ask."

The K-Con glances at the hand before tilting his head. "All right. What is it?"

 

-=-=-

 

It's a struggle to get much into a conversation with Cyclonus, this is true. Yet, Tailgate cannot look at him the same way that the rest of the ship does. And now it seems the trend continues, as most of the ship looks down upon Fulcrum. After spending some time with the K-Class Decepticon, he is nothing like Tailgate would have imagined a Decepticon to _be._ He remembers the battle and how ferociously most of them fought against the Autobots, he remembers the recordings vividly that Rewind shared with him. In the end, though, Fulcrum has not been what he would have anticipated.

In regards to Cyclonus, Tailgate decided to ask for Fulcrum's opinion as they walked down the hallway. The Decepticon raised an optic ridge to him and said plainly, "Other than me hoping he'll never punch me in the face, I don't really feel one way or another about him."

That was almost refreshing, honestly.

The favor isn't really a favor. When Tailgate had asked, it felt like it was, because gaining company seems hard at times without seeming weak or pitiful for it. But when he had, Fulcrum looked at him, baffled, asked him if he was serious, then laughed and agreed.

So at the moment, they're sitting in Tailgate's room; Cyclonus is still absent, last seen sitting on his own in Swerve's bar. Maybe later he can try to properly introduce Cyclonus and Fulcrum to each other. That'd be nice.

At any rate, the little table is just enough for both of them. The hologame's been set up. Visually, it's been updated, but the rules of Warfleet has never really changed. There is nothing new. There's still a small wall keeping Tailgate from seeing Fulcrum's side as he tries to guess the locations of the K-Con's pretend-fleet and vice versa. There is still the same types of ships, basic and varying in sizes and defenses. The graphics are just more intricate than Tailgate remembers.

But the rules are the same and that's refreshing.

"Scrap, you're good at this," Fulcrum groans, rubbing his forehead.

"Don't feel so bad. You're doing way better than most everyone else I've played with," Tailgate assures with a soft laugh. "And you haven't lost."

" _Yet._ Did I mention that I'm so not a tactician?"

"No, but you play smart," Tailgate compliments sincerely.

Fulcrum waves his hand, as if dismissing that idea. "I just listen to a lot of Krok's stories. I guess it rubbed off."

Oh, right. Fulcrum's crew. "What's Krok and everyone else like, anyway? You mentioned a little bit before."

"Hm?" Fulcrum glances over the small blockade between them due to the game. "They're... quirky. Weird. But really smart, too. I was there for a good chunk of the war. Not all of it, obviously, but I've worked with a lot of Decepticons. Krok and the others are different. They're really." He pauses, as if he needs to find the right words to really describe his thoughts. "They're loyal. Krok is different from every other C.O. I've ever met. He looks after his group. Spinister's a little simple and he finds almost everyone and everything threatening, but he's an _incredible_ surgeon. He's the one that removed my explosive charge. There's Misfire, who talks way too much without usually ever actually saying anything, but he's smarter than he looks. He also can't shoot for crap, though. Crankcase is... well, I think his name really describes him more than anyone. He's really cranky. _Ha ha._ But he knows ships like no one's business. Grim-- er."

Abruptly, Fulcrum cuts himself off, looking a bit nervous. Tailgate leans his head back. "Huh? What's wrong? Why'd you stop?"

"N-nothing. Nothing, sorry, uh." Fulcrum's hands fiddle with the controls of his side of the game. "Anyway. I met all of them on Clemency. They took me in, even when they really didn't have to. I know it probably sounds weird, but they made me believe in the cause again. That it was worth _something._ "

That little hiccup in the conversation is immensely suspicious. Tailgate hums a little, frowning. It's good to hear all of the information Fulcrum's willing to share; it helps give a fresher perspective on this whole Autobot versus Decepticon thing that was and still kind of is active. But at the same time, Fulcrum's hiding something. He's been evasive on certain topics and it's a tad concerning. He wants to trust Fulcrum, but that behavior doesn't entirely help, no matter how friendly he is or how impressive that chin is.

There's a beep from Fulcrum's forearm, which catches both of them off guard. The Decepticon opens his commlink and winces. "Slag, I lost track of time. I'm overdue at the medbay and, uh, Ratchet's pretty displeased it looks like."

"You should go," Tailgate says. "We can pick up the game where we left off later."

"I'd like that."

"Fulcrum, before you go." The bomb disposal unit lets out a little sigh. "I know you're hiding things, and I'm not mad about that. But if there's something you don't want to talk about, let me know instead of dancing around it? I like talking to you and learning more about you and the other Decepticons, but I want to trust you too."

The Decepticon looks a little taken aback, then lowers his helm. "Sorry. Force of habit. Look, let's cut a deal, okay? I'll be a little more open on some topics in due time, but I want you to be more open with me, too. I want to know why, exactly, you wanted to join the Autobots. I'm not interested in converting you, I just want to know why. When you're ready to tell me."

At first, Tailgate isn't sure he's prepared to agree to something like that. It's not something he's much talked about with anyone, but considering the fact that they've both been evasive with each other, it only seems fair.

So Tailgate holds out his hand. "Deal."

The smile that Fulcrum wears is a comfortable one, pleased at the agreement. In turn, he takes Tailgate's hand and gently shakes it. "Sounds good. Next time's my turn to ask you questions; it's nice that you want to get to know me, but there's a lot I can think of to ask a guy from six million years ago."

 

-=-=-

 

The nice thing at least is that Ratchet doesn't really glare _as much_ as the others on the ship. Instead, as soon as Fulcrum appears in the medbay, the medic gives a cranky grumble about how late Fulcrum is before dragging him over to one of the repair berths and sitting him down. The first thing he does is get to banging out the dents in his plating that Whirl had caused sometime ago while on the _Marching Riot._ While Fulcrum is grateful for it, it makes his plating a little more rough, but it's not really any worse than he was.

"You've been repaired a few times," Ratchet muses to him. "Look at me, try not to flinch."

The medic uses some kind of light in his optics, which causes a bit of blindness, but it's tolerable. "So I've heard."

"Looks like you were put back together in a cave with a box of scraps," Ratchet remarks. "Anyway, your optics are responding. Looks like you got a bit more luminance in them after some decent energon."

There's a pause during Ratchet's check-up as, to the far left, there's the familiar noise of retching noises again. Fulcrum glances in that direction, seeing Sunstreaker still purging his tanks and First Aid giving gentle pats to his back.

"Don't worry about him. Someone's played a nasty prank, dropping some kind of reactive in his energon." Ratchet shrugs. "Just need to let it run its course."

Fulcrum snorts. "You don't say. Damn shame, isn't it, Sunstreaker?"

The yellow Autobot glances up briefly with a glare before purging again in the bucket provided by First Aid.

"How's the T-Cog?" Ratchet asks.

"Works, unfortunately." Fulcrum shrugs. 

"Hm." He rasies an optic ridge as he turns the K-Con by the shoulder. The medic lifts his hand and looks at it and Fulcrum realizes why; he's rubbing two fingers together where some grit and filth crumble away, picked up from the Decepticon. "You _can_ use our washracks you know."

The idea, somehow, just never came to mind. Like clean, proper energon it's a luxury that hasn't fallen into his lap for awhile. It's not as if they're rushing to let the inmates wash at Styx or even really care what kind of state their plating is in as far as the K-Class goes and the W.A.P. is lucky enough to hold together to fly. So, in all honesty, he just didn't think about it until Ratchet mentioned it.

The medic demands another appointment soon, stating that he'd like to see how much further along his filters clear out with the proper energon fueling him. The next appointment is with Ambulon again, which makes Fulcrum wary considering their first meeting; the badly painted medic hadn't been cruel, but it hadn't been a thrilling situation.

It leaves Fulcrum with a few more tasks: clean up the, erm, spills by Sunstreaker in the bar and medbay, then help Swerve pick up after everyone else. The short, nosy Autobot is friendly enough without the touch of being invested in the person speaking, unlike Tailgate. Maybe because Fulcrum is a Decepticon or maybe not. Maybe his previous experience most recently has left him wary. After all, he'd been told by Swerve himself of his previous battle with Decepticons.

"Oh yeah, it was a blast," Swerve had stated with a forced grin, admitting to blowing his own face off with a gun.

Yikes. The guy had aim just as good as Misfire's.

While Fulcrum is glad that he'd managed to switch his pranked drink with Sunstreaker's glass of energon, he hadn't been thrilled to clean up the purged fuel from the floor. Once all was said and done and the bar was picked up with Swerve's supervision -- his turn, after all -- Fulcrum considers what Ratchet had said. Yeah, it's tempting, but since he's stuck with Swerve at the moment, he isn't 100% comfortable with the idea with asking him for company.

Yeah, no, maybe he'll wait until Tailgate's turn. He feels a bit gross, but he's had worse.

"You, uh. Need me for anything else?" Fulcrum decides to ask anyway, tucking in the last chair under a table.

"Yeah, maybe help me decide on a faceplate? You know, to plan in advance," Swerve says in a way that Fulcrum can't tell if it's a joke or not, the way it sounds almost self-deprecating. "Nah, you're done."

"Great. I've got a little bit of time until I switch to Drift, then." Fulcrum settles his weight slightly against the bar's counter. He knows it himself, that he's not really a _typical_ Decepticon, but down to the spark?

He's still a Decepticon, anyway.

"So tell me something. I got my ration directly from you." Absently, Fulcrum shuffles the straws together in their container. "You mind telling me how it ended up with something a little extra?"

"Uh." When Swerve gives his nervous laugh, Fulcrum can already tell he's a lousy liar. "It was Sunstreaker's glass, wasn't it?"

"I _switched_ mine. So what happened, Swerve?"

There's an uncertain tap of Swerve's fingers on the bar, as if that's an indicator of being caught. "Uh. Look, it was just a prank. That happens. You know, since you're part of the ship now."

"Yeah, I bet it'd be real funny," Fulcrum grouses. "Have a good laugh while the Decepticon purges his tanks all over the place. It wasn't because I'm part of your crew, because I'm _not_ , I'm here against my will."

The way Swerve's face looks is a mix between embarrassment, being guilty, and maybe a shade of fear. Could be the K-Class reputation, Fulcrum supposes, but it's not a real big secret that he's a touch more jumpy than even your typical Decepticon. Either way, Fulcrum almost feels bad for cornering Swerve considering the reaction.

But only almost.

"Next time you feel like being included to laugh at my expense? Don't do it." Fulcrum pushes away from the bar. "Anyway, I guess I should head off to see Drift. You think about it."

As Fulcrum leaves the bar, he pauses and glances over his shoulder to see Cyclonus heading in the opposite direction. He tilts his head a little, but... eh. No, it's probably nothing.

So he continues off towards Drift's office.

 

-=-=-

 

There's at least two people he knows he could ask about this. It might be good to compare and contrast, and he's not doing it because he doesn't _trust_ Fulcrum, but rather he's further curious about how much the opinions vary, how what the Autobots might know about certains things that may contrast with the truth. Tailgate doesn't deny that the Decepticons have done horrible things, but only as a whole. And that's the trouble, seeing it as a mass of bad guys and nothing more. Now he's curious after spending some additional time with the K-Con, who's been frightened, friendly, and very clearly intelligent to boot. He's not at all what Tailgate expected out of a Decepticon.

He was a technician. Now he's a bomb. Why did he switch?

Ultra Magnus has been online for a very long time, and he seems to know a lot about the K-Class. But ultimately, there'd be no one else with better documentary than Rewind himself, Tailgate decides.

"Data on the K-Class?" Rewind rubs his chin. "Yeah, I have some recordings. Most of them are about them jumping out of planes and _exploding._ That's kind of what they did, being bombs and all."

"What can you tell me?" Tailgate asks, trying not to sound too eager.

"Well, for starters, it's said that those reconfigured into the K-Class are absolutely fearless. They had to be, I suppose, to be bombs and willing to die for the Decepticon cause." Rewind pauses as he flips through his data accordingly. "Autobot intel indicates that they became the K-Class willingly. After Clemency, the practice wasn't, well, practical due to the fact that so many soldiers died. But at the time, they willingly became expendable. They were eager to serve for the glory of the Decepticons."

Tailgate gives a low hum of thought. That doesn't seem to match up his expectations at all. Fulcrum, very curiously, has been delicately avoiding the explanation as to why he was configured. He seems very adverse to dying and pain in general. Why would he ever volunteer to switch?

"Do you think that's all true?" Tailgate decides to question.

Rewind's optics brighten, as if surprised by the query. "Tailgate, all my recordings are of K-Class leaping out and transforming into bombs, of them shouting about the glory of the army and so on."

"Has... anyone ever asked a K-Con?"

"Uh." Rewind scratches the side of his helm. "Well, usually, a K-Classer is pretty dead."

So no one really knows. It's only been concluded. Tailgate folds his arms and looks down to the floor. "I guess I just don't see it. I don't see why Fulcrum would ever agree to _explode_."

"There could have been a lot of reasons. Maybe he was coerced. It's hard to say." Rewind taps his chin thoughtfully. "You've been spending a lot of time with him?"

"Fulcrum? Sure. He's actually pretty nice. He's not really anything like I expected," Tailgate admits. "Uh, are you recording me?"

"Sure. Not a lot of people actually end up _talking_ to a live K-Con. This is some pretty interesting data."

"Gotcha." Tailgate knows he shouldn't have expected differently. "I'm not saying that Decepticons were right, but. But now I'm not so sure how I feel about them at all. But maybe I should have paid better attention to what Cyclonus said. This isn't about something so simple as good guys and bad guys."

"To be fair," Rewind cuts in as gently as he can, "one decent Decepticon isn't going to redeem an entire army for all that they've done."

"Ambulon and Drift were Decepticons, weren't they? Not everyone from that army can be terrible, right?" Tailgate's shoulders slump. "How many more people out there are like Fulcrum? When he talks about the crew he was with, he just seemed so sure that's where he belonged. That those were the people he wanted to fight for."

And quietly, Tailgate finds himself envious of that feeling. Fulcrum knows where he should be.

Tailgate still isn't so sure where he ought to be.

 

-=-=-

 

"Then we managed to make some energon like this! It's like some Earth food. I guess you haven't been to Earth, but it's _amazing._ We call this sushi, and you eat it like this. These are chopsticks. It's really kind of elegant and impressive, like it you need to be balanced with yourself in order to use them. It's really great! Let me tell you about this place on Earth called Japan."

There's not a whole lot that Drift needs done in his office. At most, Fulcrum helped him sort reports, proofread a speech, and now he's sitting down across from the _Lost Light_ 's third-in-command, listening to him go on about various topics. He now knows more about Earth than he ever really needed to and he never intends on visiting anyway because really? A planet dominated by organics? Yikes, _no thank you_. Then again, it's not like anyone here knows what he used to do, cyberforming planets and whatnot. He figures the Autobots wouldn't really approve.

But yeah, now he's staring, watching Drift show off with his chopsticks and gesture wildly to his energon sushi. 

Well, at least he's nice enough, but the way he chatters, you'd almost think he doesn't have anyone to talk _to._

Drift smiles and offers the chopsticks to Fulcrum. "Here, you try them out."

"Uh." Fulcrum squints at the two sticks in his hand, then looks at the sushi. He very carefully takes them into his hands and feels that he's about as elegant with them as the time Misfire convinced Grimlock to try to do improvised dancing.

That didn't go over so well.

Sheepishly, the K-Con holds out the chopsticks. "Uh, I don't think I'm really well suited to these, sir."

"Sir?" That seems to throw Drift off for a moment. "You can just call me Drift, and it's fine! Try them."

With a sigh, Fulcrum holds the chopsticks in his hands and finally tries to use them with all of his might.

Which means stabbing the sushi. Feeling pretty cultured over here.

"Hmm. Maybe not quite like that." Drift rubs his chin before he starts to scrounge in his desk. "Go ahead and try the sushi; I'll just make you a training set."

Absently, he nibbles at the end of one of the strange energon rolls. Well, it doesn't taste bad, and the texture's interesting. Still, it seems like a lot of effort to go through in order to emulate an inferior culture. Not that Fulcrum's about to stomp all over Drift's little parade here, being so enamored with organic habits. 

"Thanks, by the way," Fulcrum offers. "Between you and Tailgate, I managed to get by okay with this community service thing instead of being shoved into the brig."

"Oh, it's no problem." Drift gives a bit of a softer smile. "There's a couple of former Decepticons on this ship, even."

"What, _really?_ " Fulcrum wouldn't have thought so with some of the treatment he's getting. Then again, _former_ Decepticons. Autobots now. Maybe it's a free pass or whatever.

"Sure. I'm one of them. I was in a pretty dark place then; my aura was shadowed by my rage and selfishness."

_Aura?_ Drift used to be a _Decepticon?_

Fulcrum scowls and chews thoughtfully on the energon. "You do look kind of familiar," he admits. "I thought so when I first saw you, but I still can't place it."

"Might be better that way." The smile that Drift wears is abruptly empty. The sudden difference in emotional output is alarming, catching the K-Con off guard. "In any case, I think you deserve a chance. Ambulon, you, and me... I don't know if anyone else would really understand. It's why I felt there was so much energetic potential for you! You could bring a lot of understanding to the ship."

"Energetic..." Fulcrum trails off, unable to keep up with Drift. "L-look, I just want to serve out whatever sentence you guys have for me and make it back to my own ship."

The swordsmech sighs and begins to focus on folding some foil. "Well, that could be awhile. With just you here and without the rest of your crew to take some responsibility, your sentence could be a few weeks. Maybe a few months."

"A few _months?!_ " Fulcrum sputters. If Krok is keeping his word about coming to find him, he probably won't even wait that long!

"Oh, don't worry! We'll keep you fueled and you're already becoming fast friends with Tailgate. I think that's fantastic!" Drift beams at him, wrapping some elastic at the ends of the chopsticks. "There we go! A training set."

Numbly, Fulcrum accepts the strange gift, still processing the idea that he could be here awhile.

"It wouldn't be so bad. You could be a load of help in finding the Knights of Cybertron!"

"...Oh." The Knights of _what_ even! Fulcrum is still trying to break down the idea that he could be stuck on the _Lost Light_ , basically their _prisoner_. By that time, if Krok can't be bothered to find him, he and the others would be back on Cybertron.

Now what? What the hell can he do but keep cleaning up data clusters in terminals and handling stupid menial tasks for people watching him?

"You said you were headed back to Cybertron with your friends?" Drift suddenly asks, his expression drawing to something far less chipper.

"Mm? Yeah. Yeah, we were."

Drift shrugs a little. "Fulcrum, to be honest, I think this is fate. I think that maybe you were guided to be with us. Things at Cybertron--"

"How can you even _listen_ to yourself talk like that?! Are you hearing yourself? Fate and energy and auras! It wasn't fate that brought me here, it's because I was arrested for surviving!"

It's quiet in Drift's office, enough that a single nut could be heard if it were to drop to the floor. Drift looks torn between surprised and a little hurt. Was that a bit much? No, it probably was; Fulcrum doesn't snap often, but the combination of everything didn't help his mood much. That and the whole thing with Swerve and Sunstreaker.

"I... Sorry, Drift." Fulcrum fiddles with the training set of chopsticks.

"You have every right to be frustrated," Drift assures. "Better out than to let it cloud your aura. But I really think it's better you're here, you know. Things back on Cybertron, last we saw? It was a little... rough, you could say."

"In what way?"

Drift sighs a little. "Just about all the Decepticons were rounded up and caged."

"Uh." Fulcrum's optics widen. "So if Krok and everyone ends up there--"

"They'd probably just be thrown to be caged with everyone else, I think. Starscream, Shockwave, Soundwave -- the whole lot."

Hell of a way to end his shift with Drift.

Miserably, Fulcrum is escorted out of the office. It's hit curfew time and he's taken back to his cell. Still with the pair of chopsticks in his hand, Fulcrum slowly sits down on his humbly sized berth, staring glumly at his own hands. No, not only is he probably stuck here for awhile, but even if Krok and the others somehow make it back, he doesn't think that Grimlock would help them be accepted back into society. They'd be tossed away with the rest of the Decepticons.

This isn't what they fought for. The Autobots won, and the Decepticons are stuck on the bottom of the food chain. They fought to overthrow their oppressors, and maybe they're right back where they started.

Or worse, because of how the war broke them all down, one way or another.

 

-=-=-

 

With a thousand conversation topics in his mind and a thousand more questions for his new friend, Tailgate goes to sleep.

 

-=-=-

 

Fulcrum tries to not scream when he wakes up, startled, and tumbling out from his pathetically sized berth. He also tries to not pay heed to Fortress Maximus's glaring red optics as he vents air in and out too quickly.

 

-=-=-

 

Cyclonus watches.

 

-=-=-

 

Being punctual is essential. That is _key._

Tailgate tries to not be excited, though he can't help but feel a bit elated in some way. He does have friends on the _Lost Light_ and in a lot of ways, many could say he probably spends too much time trying to bond with some that he shouldn't. Cyclonus to begin with, and Fulcrum to end that. Though one has been significantly easier to get close to, he hasn't given up on Cyclonus either.

Despite being refused away again, he's still upbeat. It's his turn on the roster again, and he's looking forward to talking to the K-Con again. Something he wish he had more of an opportunity to do.

Ultra Magnus doesn't linger, escorting the K-Con up from the brig and looking at Tailgate momentarily, as if to silently instruct him to be careful. At that, the enforcer steps away, no doubt off to make sure no laws get broken anytime soon. It leaves Tailgate with Fulcrum.

About to eagerly greet him, Tailgate is instead faced with a rather glum looking K-Classer.

"Fulcrum?" the bomb disposal unit asks carefully. "Are you okay?"

Fulcrum glances up, then back to the floor. "I just have a lot on my mind right now, Tailgate. Sorry."

Quietly, Tailgate takes the K-Con's wrist, looking up at him. A thumb gently rolls over the joint as Tailgate stands in thought, visor dimming before he nods. Now is a terrible time to ask anything of him and he can be satisfied enough with just Fulcrum's company.

"Don't apologize," he assures quietly. "Let's just go ahead and get those data clusters handled, okay?"

There's a pause, then a quiet sigh from the K-Con. "Yeah. Okay."

The hand on Fulcrum's wrist slides to hold onto the ends of his fingers as Tailgate takes lead. Not at all demanding, but he tries to convey that he wants to be there, that he _is_ there if Fulcrum feels like speaking his mind. It, at least, earns a tiny smile from the Decepticon.

So that's something.

For the most part, things are quiet. Tailgate is forced to sit nearby and watch Fulcrum perform the mindless task, typing away at terminals and clearing them out. The change in his behavior is curious and he wonders if someone's been unnecessarily cruel to him? He supposes that could be it, but trying to force it out of Fulcrum isn't a good idea, either.

No. Tailgate is sure that when the K-Con feels up to it, he'll speak his mind.

When Fulcrum finishes up, he presses the last keystroke; he stares out ahead to the wall, yellow optics narrowed in thought. Finally, he turns his head and faces Tailgate. "Done early."

"Did you wanna do something?" Tailgate debates mentioning the board game, but he waits.

"Yeah. Not to, uh. Sound gross? But I haven't had a good wash in a long time." Fulcrum exhales heavily. "And I wasn't gonna ask anyone else to come with me since I figured I'd have to be stuck with someone. I'd really rather it be with you."

"Oh! No, that's fine. I'm just glad to have some time with you, honestly." 

The sincerity gives Fulcrum pause, his optics lighting up. Inwardly, Tailgate feels a little pleased that he's able to earn a brighter response than how upset the K-Con had looked before. He holds up his hand to him. "Here. I can lead the way."

There's a brief moment of hesitation, but eventually Fulcrum's hand slips into Tailgate's. With a satisfied hum, the bomb disposal unit tenderly squeezes his hand before he guides the Decepticon down the hallway. He isn't entirely ignorant of when they pass by other Autobots, those who stop to gawk or judge in silence. It's not too unusual not when Tailgate tries to reach out to Cyclonus.

He doesn't see why he can't reach out to Fulcrum.

Thankfully, the washracks are empty, lacking any company that would make his friend uncomfortable. After releasing Fulcrum, Tailgate reaches up to the controls to turn on the water, letting the hot, pressurized wash come on. After turning around to face the Decepticon, he watches the K-Con slowly sit down, pulling his knees up to himself, not actively scrubbing away yet. Tailgate just watches the water run down his bronze colored plating, and some grit slides down the drain.

But no action taken, like all Fulcrum can do is just sit there under the wash and hope that's enough. Something really must be bothering him.

Carefully, Tailgate kneels down in front of him, touching his shoulder. "You mind if I scrub your back?"

Alarmed at the suggestion, Fulcrum's optics flicker. "Uh. You, um. You don't have to do that."

"I know. But I'd like to," Tailgate tells him. "Will it bother you?"

"I guess not?" Fulcrum shrugs a little, a bit embarrassed. "No one's really done that before. Not normal for Decepticons I guess."

"I don't really know if it's normal for Autobots, either," Tailgate admits. "But from the time I'm from, it's pretty normal for friends."

At that, Fulcrum's miserable expression relaxes a fraction, as if being openly addressed as a friend is helpful. "That's a good enough point for me."

The scrubbing brush is snagged off its hook and Tailgate circles around to sit behind the Decepticon. In small circles, he starts to scrub away the grime that's clung to Fulcrum for who knows how long. It takes a lot of work, and it seems unlikely that on his own Fulcrum could have even made much of an impact. Fortunately, Tailgate is diligent and focused as he works away the layers of dirt and hidden filth holding onto him. 

Bit by bit, Fulcrum is relaxing, his plating shifting a bit to accommodate Tailgate's attention. He's able to better reach around as a result, looking on in satisfaction as the dark crud washes away. It's not as if Fulcrum had been initially forged for this, so he isn't well polished or anything, but he looks better. Brighter. 

"I wasn't always this color," Fulcrum comments, tone quiet. "After I was reconfigured, got a new paint job, too."

"What color were you before?" Tailgate decides to ask. This is a bit more insight into him.

There's a pause, then Fulcrum shakes his head. "...Tailgate. I. I think I might be here awhile." Not really answering the color question, but it seems that Fulcrum is leading to something. "I don't even know how long. I really have no idea and I keep thinking how afraid I am of that. More than that, if I'm stuck here, I'm afraid of..."

The way Fulcrum trails off is concerning. 

The brush is placed down to the floor. Tailgate reaches out and takes his hand again. "Fulcrum?"

"I'm afraid to tell you everything," Fulcrum finally confesses, "because. Because I don't have a lot to be proud of and if I'm going to be stuck here, I don't want to be alone."

It doesn't need to be spelled out much more than that. Fulcrum is afraid of driving him away. It's honestly kind of sweet? How much that's weighing on the K-Con's shoulders. Lightly, Tailgate squeezes his hand. 

"You can talk to me," the bomb disposal unit assures.

Fulcrum _tries_ to smile, he really does, but even Tailgate can see the grimace in it. There's a light tremor in his plating, which only earns another affectionate squeeze of Tailgate's hand. "I was a convict, at a prison planet called Styx. For _traitors._ I was convicted of cowardice, because when the Autobots attacked the site I was working on? I ran away instead of fighting. I couldn't do it. So I was sentenced to death sometime after I was arrested. Just as they were about to execute me, an order came in. All prisoners were going to be reconfigured into a new frame type. The K-Class. We had brief training to beat the fear out of us. It never left me, though. The thing about being part of the K-Class is that when you jump? Your T-Cog activates automatically. You're forced to transform. But when I jumped, I was so scared that I couldn't change. So I landed and went unconscious instead. Sometime later, that's when Krok and the others found me. I never blew up because I was too scared to die."

It takes a moment to let all of that sink in. Fulcrum had stated, vaguely, that he didn't transform because of a glitch. But this makes more sense than the explanation Rewind had for the K-Class. They weren't reconfigured because they _wanted_ to, they were forced. Fulcrum was reconfigured just to die, and he's afraid. That's no surprise, because he remembers how much fear was in the Decepticon when they'd met, yet he found the courage to protect his friends.

And it probably took a lot of courage to speak up now, too.

Tailgate circles him a bit so they're more facing each other. As if it's a delicate process, he reaches forward and loosely slides his arms around Fulcrum's midsection. The K-Con goes still, as if he's at a loss on what to do with the smaller mech embracing him.

"I wanted to be a Decepticon at first, because it sounded right. Revolutionaries looking for change. But I changed my mind after what I saw. I wanted a side, so I could fit in somewhere," Tailgate confesses softly. "I don't fit in anywhere in this time, I feel like. I'm trying, though. And I like the friends I've made. But in the end, I still feel like I'm trying hard to mold myself in some way. I guess it's not a very good reason to join the Autobots, especially since there isn't a war, but I wanted... I wanted something for here and now."

It's light at first, almost timid. But that's not too unusual for Fulcrum, Tailgate is starting to get. He's a bundle of fear in most cases. Still, eventually, the arms do find their way around to return the hug.

"For the record," the K-Con offers, "I'm glad you're here. No matter what faction you feel like being part of."

"And I'm glad you're alive," Tailgate informs him.

 

-=-=-

 

It's all of Fulcrum's reluctance that the shift with Tailgate comes to a close. He feels alleviated to have given him some more of what happened. Gradually, he knows, he's going to have to share what happened with the D.J.D. with him. It seems right if he's going to be stuck here awhile. At the very least, it seems that he's only solidified his strange, interesting bond with the shorter mech.

He's not often really that, um, cuddly? But. But it felt nice.

Brainstorm stands waiting, arms folded impatiently with his foot tapping as Fulcrum finishes up parting from his friend.

"I think you should keep the chassis clear of a symbol, personally," Fulcrum comments.

"You just said that you didn't care about which faction I'd be part of," Tailgate points out, putting his hands on his shapely hips. Were they always shapely? No, they had to be, but they seem more pronounced.

Uh. Anyway.

"No, that's true," Fulcrum answers, "it's just. I think you're better as who you are, is all. Okay? Anyone who can't accept that needs to be defragged."

There's a quiet chuckle from Tailgate. "Thanks, Fulcrum."

"Would you hurry up? I have a lot of delicate work waiting--" Brainstorm starts, huffing.

"All right, in a second," Fulcrum grumbles. "All right, one last thing, I swear. Uh. Tailgate, you trust me, right?"

"Sure," Tailgate says with a nod.

"Right. Okay. ...Here we go. Shut off your optics?"

There's a curious sound from the bomb disposal unit, but Tailgate doesn't argue. As his visor goes dim, Fulcrum immediately debates the intelligence of this move. No, this is probably a terrible idea. He just _cemented_ their friendship, he doesn't need to make this weird. But it's nothing, nothing at all, and oh jeez he's getting himself worked up.

Fulcrum tries his best to swallow back his fear before he's giving Tailgate a peck on the side of his faceplate.

Before the K-Con can magically find a way to explode out of sheer embarrassment -- Brainstorm's gawking and gagging is so _not_ helping -- or run away and hide for about a century or two, Tailgate snags him by the chin and bumps his forehead against Fulcrum's. He tilts his head to nuzzle his cheek.

"I'll talk to you later," Tailgate promises, tone not in the least offended. If anything, he sounds positively _chipper._

"Um. Yep," Fulcrum says a bit dumbly before he goes to follow Brainstorm, not even hearing the scientist's complaining.

 

-=-=-

 

" _You idiot._ "

" _Krok, you gotta go with the others_."

" _I'm coming back for you. When I can._ "

" _L-look, Krok. Just go home._ "

It's the last recording between the two Decepticons.

Off and on, he listens to the recording, as if trying to figure out the final piece of a puzzle. Fulcrum is positively dumb and positively intelligent; he's a damn coward when it's inconvenient and _brave_ when it counts. So the fact that he stayed behind to make sure the rest of them slid away makes sense. It doesn't make Krok any less furious about the matter. Now the Autobots have _his_ crewmember, have him outright kidnapped. It angers him. Krok is already fairly protective of his crew and the fact that he'd failed to make sure to keep them all together just grinds his gears. Fulcrum could have just kept running with him and then--

And then Krok would have made the same decision. Damn it all.

Fulcrum stayed behind with nothing to defend himself with, not even a _pistol_ \-- Primus only knows if Fulcrum even has the training to use one!

Krok rolls the cylinder in his hand, scowling as he slumps in his chair. He promised. He promised to come back for him, and he will.

Crankcase got the name of the ship. The _Lost Light_. That's something. 

What to conclude from there, Krok has yet to determine, but he _will_ keep his word. He'll follow that slagging Autobot ship to the ends of the galaxy if it means he gets his crew back together.


	3. Similar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fulcrum ends up on the Lost Light. Tailgate ends up vouching for him. Nobody is happy about it except probably them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TITLE: Bombs Away  
> CHAPTER: Three | Similar  
> FANDOM: Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW  
> RATING: R for some sexuality. The rating goes up in this chapter for some petting/touching.  
> SUMMARY: Tailgate and Fulcrum have a gift exchange. Fortress Maximus and Cyclonus watch.

The ship can have a perfectly functional engine, fuel, and even autopilot, but it'd still be drowning in its crew. It's a sea of fools, pathetic individuals, and so few that he can bear much respect for. Regardless of that, he obeys. He is perfectly capable of following orders, even from a young, brash commander.

He watches.

He watches everything.

 

-=-=-

 

"If you don't mind my saying, Tailgate, I'm starting to get a little worried about your obsession with the K-Class," Rewind comments as gently as he can.

Quietly kept to himself, it's always been a tad frustrating on the ship. Many have said to not bother with Cyclonus, as if Tailgate didn't know any better. Poor little naive Tailgate working so hard to pointlessly be friends with someone as awful as Cyclonus; he gets it, he's heard it even when nobody thinks he has. And sure, even Tailgate's gotten upset at him before, but he can't think about turning his back on him.

Nobody would understand why. And right now, it feels like no one really understands why he's working so hard for Fulcrum, either.

"It's not an obsession," Tailgate says as patiently as he can. "Fulcrum's my friend."

Well, he's pretty sure that's their status. The kiss on the cheek was nice, though he's a little curious about that. For all he knows, that's like a high-five in Decepticon culture or something.

Doubtful, but he wants to be sure.

But it had been really nice. Really!

"I don't understand why everyone's assuming the worst about him, even after he's been here for a couple of weeks." Tailgate shakes his head a little.

"He's a Decepticon," Rewind reminds.

" _And?_ What else, besides being a K-Con?"

Rewind rubs the back of his head. "I understand what you mean. I really do. It's just, that's not how everyone else is going to look at it. Didn't mean to get you worked up, okay?"

"I'm fine." Tailgate exhales a little, twiddling his thumbs together anxiously. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap. Anyway, I really think a lot of people might feel differently if they'd give him a chance. What do you think?"

The archivist gives pause. There's something of a glint in his visor, and Tailgate hopes that's a good thing. "What do you think? That your K-Con friend wouldn't mind a teensy interview?" Rewind rubs his chin. "As far as I know, he's the only living K-Class. The only one to walk away from his drop. I'd have to be some kind of idiot to not get something as long as he's here."

It's unspoken, but he knows the long standing issue had been concerning Chromedome. Not that Tailgate feels as though he can entirely blame him, all things considered, but he really wishes more people would give Fulcrum a better opportunity to show who he really is. More than just a Decepticon.

Still, it sounds like Rewind is dedicated to the idea. He'd find a way.

"I'm pretty sure I can work something out with Fulcrum." It's hard to not be excited. There aren't many things that he can give Fulcrum, but he's going to damn well try.

Far as Tailgate can figure, it's the least he can do for him.

 

-=-=-

 

This is absolutely complicated and terrible and he has no idea what to do about it.

Being stuck with Brainstorm doesn't help, either. Sure, he's smart enough, but he's also condescending, pretentious, egotistical, and agitating -- and that's Fulcrum being _polite_ about it. The Autobot scientist is infamous, even to Decepticons, and he thinks that if Brainstorm had somehow weaponized his personality, the Decepticon Empire _really_ would never have had a chance in the war, period.

Not only does the Autobot berate Fulcrum wherever he can, but he never has anything for him to do. At least just about everyone else has him do menial tasks. Even Chromedome gives him basic filing duties when it comes to data records. He'd rather have more technical work to do, but that's becoming something that there's less of the longer he's here.

It's sort of a bummer, but the Autobots are never going to put him on actual projects beyond cleaning up messes, clearing data clusters, and organizational skills. Brainstorm? Just tells him to sit in a corner and not to do anything.

He wonders if this is some kind of endurance test made by Rodimus and Ultra Magnus. _Ugh._

But at any rate, Brainstorm isn't the main problem. It's the other thing. The Tailgate thing. What the hell can he call it? Ugh, no, he's just thinking about it too much and it's awful and also sort of nice...?

Fulcrum sighs and flexes his fingers. He really wishes he had a project to work on. Something to keep himself busy. Now he's stuck just thinking about the curvy little mech and it's kind of pleasant and kind of agonizing and he feels himself panicking. Not that feeling _panic_ is new, but it's the flustering kind.

He really has no business feeling this way.

That's it. He's an idiot. Brainstorm's demeaning remarks aside, Fulcrum is a full-out idiot.

The door to the lab opens and he perks up slightly to watch Perceptor come inside. It's sort of this strange mix of dread and respect. There couldn't possibly be a Decepticon alive that doesn't know of him. A sniper, a scientist, a _Wrecker._ Sheesh, what hasn't the Autobot done? But if there's one thing about him, it's at least he doesn't spit degrading remarks all over Fulcrum. Perceptor's cold, but he doesn't seem hateful or full of spite, at least.

He'll take a cold shoulder over whatever Brainstorm offers him.

For once, Perceptor does pause to glance at Fulcrum, which earns a surprised expression from the K-Con. Eventually, Perceptor turns to look at Brainstorm. "How long has the Decepticon been here?"

"Too long," is the first answer. With a displeased, grating noise, Brainstorm elaborates with, "An hour and a half. I gave him the only suitable task: stay out of my way."

"I'm really excelling at it," Fulcrum grumbles dryly.

"Didn't I say also be quiet in your corner?" Brainstorm snaps a little. "It's not like you could ever grasp the genius work that I'm putting together here."

"I've been stuck watching you! You're making some kind of gun that's attracted to an energy signature; it shoots dozens of needle-like projectiles and when enough collide to its target, they explode. Otherwise, they can be designed to cause pain." Fulcrum throws his hands up in the air. "Good for you. You're right, I don't get it."

There's a brief pause of silence.

"Well, it's got a secondary function," Brainstorm mutters to himself.

"You seem under-stimulated," Perceptor notes to the K-Classer. "And a bit irritable."

Fulcrum sighs heavily. "That obvious?"

"It's been said in your file that you were a technician before becoming part of the K-Class."

"I have a file...?" Fulcrum says, baffled. "Er, anyway. Yeah."

Perceptor gives some consideration. "Perhaps next time, I can switch with Brainstorm. I understand the difficulties occasionally with an idle mind. One can end up _over_ -thinking."

"Um. Suppose that's true." The Decepticon ducks his head a little. "Thanks, I think."

"Hm," is all the sniper responds with, turning his head and paying heed to his own project.

The last bit of his shift with Brainstorm is still spent in his corner, watching boredly as the pair of scientists work on two completely different projects. He can't tell if it's out of sheer boredom or if it's because they've actually been assigned with something to do, honestly. But it makes his hands itch to do something and it's kind of awful to just _watch_ other people work like this. At least on the W.A.P., there wasn't a shortage of repairs to do or something.

He glances aside at Brainstorm's work station, and tilts his head down towards a bin he keeps tossing bits of metal and other various material into. It almost looks like... a scrap bin? Huh. He'd noticed before, but his sheer distaste for the Autobot really didn't make him think about it. Yeah, no, maybe Krok and the others really have rubbed off on him, but the more he looks at the bin and its contents, the more curious he gets. Frag, here he is getting scavenger instincts. 

Still, it just seems so wasteful. 

"Uh." Fulcrum leans forward a bit in his chair. "Brainstorm?"

The scientist sighs, not hiding his annoyance. " _What?_ "

"Are you gonna keep those?" Hesitantly, he points at the bin.

"It's just trash." Brainstorm peers at a piece of metal in his fingers before he disposes of it into the bin. "Don't tell me you want it?"

"Well. Um."

Brainstorm snorts. "I guess it'd be appropriate. Fine. Take it. I have no idea where you're going to _store_ it. I really doubt Ultra Magnus will let you take much into that dinky cell of yours in the brig."

Scooting off of his chair, Fulcrum reaches and takes the bin into his hands. It shouldn't, but it does excite him to have his own materials, even if it's leftovers from someone else. Sort of the thing he's become used to, though, ever since Krok and everyone else found him. But as much as he hates to admit to it to himself, Brainstorm has a point.

He has no place to store it.

"Here," Perceptor gestures him over. "Fulcrum, isn't it? I can keep it secure for you at my station. No doubt whatever else Brainstorm decides he doesn't need, it can be accumulated for your use at your next shift with one of us."

"Is that okay? You're not just gonna throw it out?" Fulcrum can't help but look at him dubiously as he trots over.

The sniper shakes his head. "There's no need. I can keep an optic on you should you decide to construct something so I can be sure it's not destructive."

Oh. Well, okay then. That's a fair concern, Fulcrum supposes; most Decepticons would jump at that opportunity, especially if it meant a way off the ship. 

"Did you have something in mind that you'd like to make?" Perceptor glances at the contents of the bin.

"I don't know yet," Fulcrum admits. "Just sort of figured that I'd like to keep busy, you know?"

"I see. Either way, I will take care of it. Do not worry."

 

-=-=-

 

And he watches.

 

-=-=-

 

"Please Swerve? I can't think of anyone better suited to get the word out."

It's not often that the barkeep has a way look, but Swerve fiddles with the tray in his hands and his visor dims. It seems easier to do it this way rather than trying to talk to everyone individually and somehow convince them to be a part of this. The bar is a central point that most of the crew ends up in, sooner or later; it only makes sense to make use of such a social location. At least, to Tailgate's understanding.

"I'm not really sure if anyone will go for it," Swerve admits.

"Go for what?"

The pair pause as Fulcrum makes his approach, broom in his hands. Swerve stiffens up slightly.

"Floor's swept, by the way," Fulcrum addresses Swerve. "Everything okay with you and Tailgate?"

The tone in the Decepticon's voice is kind of weird. Tailgate would almost call it stern, but he's rarely ever heard that kind of hint in Fulcrum's voice to really think that it could ever _apply_. Usually in the face of most Autobots, he keeps his head down and does what he's told. Then again, he supposes that Swerve doesn't really have a bossy sense in his body, but it's still a strange matter to see in front of him.

"S'fine," Swerve mutters before he looks at Tailgate. "Look, I'll pass it around, but don't get upset if it doesn't work out."

"It's all right. Thanks." Really, he's pleased as can be, almost downright feeling like he needs to reel his excitement back slightly. Tailgate watches Swerve head off to gather up more glasses. "Hey, Fulcrum. Do you have a minute?"

"Until Swerve needs a hand mopping up whatever Trailbreaker spills?" Fulcrum shrugs one shoulder, smiling almost shyly. "Sure."

"Great!" A hand goes to Fulcrum's elbow as Tailgate gently guides him to the counter to sit with him at. "I'm pretty sure you start your shift with me again tomorrow. Which works out pretty okay, I think. After you get the data clusters finished, I sort of... had two big requests of you to make."

Fulcrum tilts his head, his yellow optics looking down at Tailgate curiously. "You usually don't need me to do much around the ship. What's up?"

"All right." Tailgate holds up two fingers. "First one? Rewind wants an interview with you. He's just gonna ask a few questions and you can answer honestly. He's an archivist, and I can't think of a single thing he _doesn't_ record, but there's not a lot of data on the K-Class for the Autobots. You'd be the first he ever met, so I think it's a great opportunity." One finger goes down. "Second, he's arranging kind of a movie night. We did it before and... and I thought it was great. But I want to do it again, with you there. So I'm trying to see who else would join us for awhile."

While Tailgate is brimming with excitement, it doesn't quite seem like his friend is exactly feeling the same way. Not that it's so unusual that someone else he's speaking to isn't really catching onto his attempts at being cheerful. It's just that Fulcrum actually looks uncertain.

Though, yeah, all things considered, it can't really be blamed. He knows that Fulcrum hasn't had an easy time of it lately and a lot of the Autobots haven't really been the most _welcoming_ , but that's why Tailgate is eager for this.

"Um." As if anxious, Fulcrum starts to wring his hands over the broom he's still holding. "Are you sure this is a good idea? I mean, I haven't even _met_ Rewind. Anytime it was supposed to be his shift, Chromedome would be there instead and I'm _really_ sure that Chromedome hates me. Which, whatever, like that's never happened before? And the other thing, I-I, _uh_. Tailgate, no one's gonna show up and--"

As soon as Tailgate places his hand over one of Fulcrum's, the Decepticon's nervous rambling stops. "It'll be okay. I just really think that Rewind is a good chance for you to talk and show people who you really are. And even if no one comes for the film, I'm okay if it's just you and me. I sort of figured it was worth a shot on both accounts is all."

There's a pause, but Tailgate remains patient. Eventually, Fulcrum lightly pats his hand over the smaller mech's. "Yeah. Okay, I'll give it a go."

Tailgate squeezes his hand. It probably isn't as apparent as the way others with a face can express, but the way his visor shapes hopefully expresses that properly. "I'm glad. I just want you to have a little bit of fun."

A hesitant smile forms as Fulcrum seems comfortable enough to return the warm gesture. There's an immediate wince when he hears a glass break. "...Yeah, that's probably Trailbreaker. Sorry, I have to go."

"It's okay. I'll see you tomorrow," Tailgate promises.

Though he isn't eager to let Fulcrum go, he does and watches the Decepticon hurry off to clean up the mess made. He sits back at the counter and considers.

Over the course of the night, after Swerve's set out the word, there have been mixed responses. Though not many have been positive, it's about within Tailgate's expectations. It's going to be a small gathering, but that's fine. Swerve himself had said that he'd _consider_ coming by and as a whole didn't seem very eager to be part of it. Skids expressed interest and Pipes seemed curious enough, at least. What surprises Tailgate was getting a message from Drift about his confirmation about coming along. Usually the command trio didn't get themselves involved like this.

But he'll take it.

Now he just needs to track down Cyclonus somehow.

 

-=-=-

 

Before Styx, Fulcrum didn't have a very intimate knowledge of prisons until his arrest and conviction. From there, he's certainly had his share of experiences for an unfortunate length of time. He's fairly familiar with it on a Decepticon degree; he's only ever heard vague implications about what Garrus-9 had been like, and apparently during his stasis something had happened to make it nothing but a haunted name no one was interested in explaining in the hallways of the _Lost Light._ Fulcrum had debated asking anyone once, maybe Drift or Tailgate, but had refrained. It didn't seem wise, not when it's like some sort of haunted tale of sorts.

When he's brought back to the brig and looks across the hallway to Fortress Maximus, red optics are staring back at him, piercing and glowering. Over the course of time, Fulcrum's evaluated the sort of lockdown that the (apparently) former warden is in, layer by layer. Stasis cuffs, normal bars, a set of plasma-based bars, and an alarm system. Awfully strict for _anyone._ It still boggles his mind, why they would ever lock up one of their own, especially one as famous as Fortress Maximus. What could he have possibly done to be forced to be down here?

They've never spoken before. For all the time he's been here, they've never exchanged a single word.

Once Ultra Magnus leaves Fulcrum in his cell, the K-Con is absently toying with the training chopsticks that Drift gave him. It's the only thing he has for himself, and as silly as they seem, it's the only physical item he has to treasure here.

"Decepticon," Fortress Maximus growls low, so low that it seems to rumble with his engine.

Fulcrum jumps and squeaks, dropping the chopsticks. He looks up, optics wide and wary.

It's a long period of silence between the two of them, and Fulcrum really has no idea what the hell he should say. It's a stupid fear, but he feels like if... if he tries to reach for the chopsticks, Fortress Maximus will take immense offense to it, break out of his cell, and beat him to death for it.

That's the kind of gaze he's receiving anyway.

Eventually, Fulcrum answers with, "Autobot...?"

Fortress Maximus narrows his optics.

Oh. Probably not a good answer.

"How long are you here for?"

Fulcrum tenses up. Sheesh, Fortress Maximus is locked up tight and he can't help but be horridly _afraid_ of him. Every word sounds positively hate filled. "I. I don't know. I was arrested for theft, and I'm serving a sentence enough for my crew, so. Uh. So for about five people total. I don't actually know for how long."

"Then let me make this perfectly clear, for you and any other Decepticon in this ship." Fortress Maximus peers down at him. "If you're still here by the time they release me, there's nothing that'll stop me from breaking you. I'll tear you apart."

Well, sadly, that's not the first threat he's received. Whirl's made some other implied remarks, usually along with a terrible joke about exploding. But it's not spoken with as much loathing as Fortress Maximus is giving him right now. 

Which boggles his mind. It's like a personal agenda, which makes no sense because he's never even met him until he got on this damned ship.

Despite fear causing his tanks to churn slightly, he can't help but ask, " _Why?_ " The glare from Fort Max doesn't help and Fulcrum tries to not wince. "I mean. The war's over. Why would--"

"You and I both know there's more that you've done beyond stealing whatever it is that got Ultra Magnus in a tiff. You're a Decepticon; you have a whole history behind you."

So hatred purely for his faction. Got it. That shouldn't shock him, really. Fulcrum sighs and wills himself to not buckle yet under that gaze. "I've. I've never shot a single person. Not in my entire life. I mean, I've held a gun, but I wouldn't trust myself to shoot it or anything."

"Don't feed me that scrap. You're trying to claim you've never killed anyone? During the entire time you were in the war."

Oof. Fulcrum really wishes he had something to keep his hands busy. "Not... directly?" he tries in a tiny voice. "I was a technician. I've never been involved in a fight. Pretty sure you could say I've gotten people killed, but not usually intentionally." Wow, that's not really helping him win points right now. "L-look, I spent most of my time on projects, repair jobs, arrested, or as a bomb."

There's silence for a long moment between the two. The ex-warden still stares at the ex-prisoner, as if he's not able to compute those words as truth or if he's outright refusing to.

The quiet is agonizing.

"Look, this... this is probably none of my business, but why is an Autobot down here?" Fulcrum dares to ask.

Fortress Maximus snorts, somehow managing to make that glare intensify. "No one told you?"

"I'm not really that friendly with most of the crew. You know, Decepticon and all."

"Then I guess you're right. It's not any of your business." Fortress Maximus lifts his chin up, peering down across the hall at Fulcrum, as if he could suddenly rise out of his cell and break through effortlessly any second.

"Does it have anything to do with Garrus-9?" Fulcrum tests warily. There's a snarl of warning and Fulcrum somehow manages to not shriek the most unflattering noise in the galaxy. "I-I really have no idea what happened _I was in stasis!_ " he frantically blurts out.

"Even _Tailgate_ knows--" the Autobot grates out.

"Well I'm not asking _Tailgate_." Despite the frightened tone that Fulcrum's kept because he really is truly scared of the former warden, it changes abruptly at the mention of the bomb disposal unit. "And I'm not going to. Don't tell me if you don't feel like it because I am _seriously_ fine with that."

The shift in tone cuts into the anger of Fortress Maximus's stare. Only slightly, but the fraction is enough to be a notable difference. Fulcrum still can't help but shake, afraid of the giant Autobot with something lurking behind him, but he can sort of understand. Something chases everyone and. And _fine_ , whatever, but he couldn't help but feel a little more protective when Tailgate had been mentioned.

Slowly, Fulcrum finally picks up the dropped chopsticks, the conversation seemingly ended. He curls onto his side on his berth, back to Fortress Maximus, perhaps in hopes that he can somehow ignore the fury pouring from the impressively sized Autobot.

The two warborns continue the night into silence. Between them are bars, because despite what they used to be -- prisoner and warden -- some things never seem to change.

 

-=-=-

 

It's been arranged and he has a final list. To his disappointment, he hasn't been able to find Cyclonus. It wouldn't surprise Tailgate honestly if he was being avoided; he briefly and foolishly toyed with the thought that maybe Cyclonus was annoyed that he'd been spending his time getting familiar with Fulcrum, then quickly discarded the idea because that's intensely unlikely. 

No, Cyclonus probably isn't very interested in socializing with anyone, but at the very least Tailgate wants to try to drag the past to meet the present, if such a thing is possible. 

When he returns to their shared room, Cyclonus has taken one of his two positions; either he's typically at the desk in some brooding manner, or he's staring out the window in a similar enough behavior. It's the latter this time, and he does look like he's in a deep thought, peering out into space with a claw to his chin.

"Cyclonus?" Tailgate tries.

Everything seems normal. Cyclonus is ignoring him. Tailgate isn't sure if he really finds comfort in that. One of their last real interactions had been the attempt Tailgate made in the offering and being rejected again. It ended strangle with glass shards being gathered with unexpected help and looking sourly down at a humble puddle on the floor.

But he's incapable of giving up.

"So, tomorrow. I talked to Rewind about putting together another movie night." Tailgate's fingers fiddle together and he's not sure how to approach this or make Cyclonus listen to him but he's _trying_. "I thought it'd be a good chance for everyone to actually talk to Fulcrum and. And, well, it'd be great? If you could make it? Maybe... meet him or something."

The more Tailgate talks, the less confident he's feeling.

Slowly Cyclonus turns his head to peer at Tailgate. That immediately causes him to go silent.

"The Decepticon is weak of body. His construction is not meant for battle. He might as well be made of glass." Cyclonus folds his arms and looks back out the window. "He has no ability to fight with his hands."

"He's a technician. Almost all of these others don't have a multi-function," Tailgate protests.

There's a sharp, impatient exhale from Cyclonus. It doesn't seem like it's something that he's going to expand upon.

"Just. I mean, if you feel like it, you can still join us. I don't know if you've really had a chance to talk to him, but..." Tailgate trails off, wincing a little. 

No. It seems as if Cyclonus has made his decision. At least for the moment. It doesn't seem like much convincing could be made at the moment. Later, maybe he can try again, just as uselessly as it seems.

Sullenly, Tailgate sits down at his berth.

He doesn't expect Cyclonus to turn his head again, optics narrowed.

"The Decepticon is a paradox. I will speak to him when I deem appropriate."

The will to raise his voice further is gone and Tailgate is left to think on that. Cyclonus does not move, does not go to rest on his berth. Instead, his thoughts are held to himself and left untouched outside the last sentence, his perception of Fulcrum thus far.

So the two Cybertronians of the past forced to coexist in the present remain in silence as Tailgate tries to rest and look forward to tomorrow.

 

-=-=-

 

Sleep definitely hadn't been much of a thing. At least, not for Fulcrum, though that's not really unusual. Really, he can't remember the last time he'd been particularly restful. Even on the _Weak Anthropic Principle_ , he'd been stuck as a light sleeper. Everything that's Styx and after lingers, making it difficult for him to really feel comfortable enough to rest. Put that with him being in a cell with a giant, angry Autobot glaring almost hard enough to kill him and it makes for a pretty discomforting situation.

The only relief he seems to perpetually have is looking forward to seeing Tailgate again. As soon as it's time, he's sitting up, glad to be escorted by Drift into the hallway. 

"You know, it's usually Ultra Magnus that drags me around at this time," Fulcrum remarks.

"He's been pretty occupied as of late. Besides, you don't mind me being around, now, do you?" Drift offers a faint smile.

There's an embarrassed shrug. "Not really. I just thought it was different."

The pair stop at the corner where Tailgate meets them; the smaller mech immediately heads over, gently grasping Fulcrum by the wrist. The hold is more inviting than demanding, a grip that's easy to escape from if Fulcrum wants to. Not that he does, particularly. Tailgate glances up towards the third-in-command of the _Lost Light_ , greeting him with a nod. "We'll see you later, Drift?"

"Unless any emergencies come up," Drift assures with his cheerful grin. "Make sure to keep it upbeat! We need to keep the place full of positive energy so we can have a good time."

Tailgate glances at Fulcrum, who just forces a grin; he really isn't sure how to handle Drift's spiritual side and it seems like at least Tailgate is in a similar boat as he in that one. So, fortunately, Tailgate just says, "We should hurry up and get the data clusters dealt with."

"Uh. Yeah. Let's go do that," Fulcrum awkwardly agrees, finding himself gently guided down the hall.

The data clusters are simple to clear up. Probably would have gone faster if he hadn't found himself in a distracting conversation with his friend, no doubt. It was there he found a bit more about actually _why_ the _Lost Light_ was headed anywhere. A few reasons, really. They were out to find the Knights of Cybertron, and in order to do so, they needed to find the Circle of Light, Drift's friends. All in order to bring peace to Cybertron or some scrap like that.

Fulcrum supposes politics are too hard to manage peacefully after centuries of war.

Still, it explains a bit, like what they hoped to find at the _Marching Riot._ The W.A.P. crew hoped to find the leftovers of fuel and plating and anything else they could survive on, and Rodimus's crew wanted to find any hints that leads to the Circle of Light.

Fulcrum just kind of happens to be in the middle of it now.

"Drift's always coming up with new theories. Which is kind of odd, I mean, _Skids_ is the theoretician," Tailgate muses faintly.

"Well, he does seem, uh. Open-minded?" Fulcrum tries politely with a grin. "Anyway, all done."

It's kind of odd, but he finds himself slipping his hand into Tailgate's fairly easily to let him lead along. Usually, he just kind of falls into step behind everyone else, and some drag him around as if he's a trouble-making, disobedient mech. Instead, this is a bolder connection, warm. 

It's nice.

Nervousness starts to flutter up inside of him when he's led into a comfortable enough looking room. A couch, a few chairs, a pitcher of energon-- frag, this is way nicer than anywhere on the W.A.P.

And there's Rewind. He's often see him, never spoken to him because frankly the glares that Chromedome had given him were overwhelming. Now, he's still worried, and Fulcrum isn't eager to talk about himself, but he'll go with it.

"Fulcrum," Rewind greets, the red light of his camera turning on brightly. A hand is offered out to him. "It's good to finally meet you."

"Uh. You too. Are you... recording already?" Fulcrum hesitantly takes the smaller hand after he lets go of Tailgate's.

"Of course. It's better for a more natural reaction," Rewind comments with a wry tone. "Why don't you go ahead and have a seat, all right?"

For a moment, Fulcrum almost feels like he's at a loss, pulling his hands to himself. Slowly, he sits on the couch, putting his hands onto his knees. His fingers curl and uncurl with uncertainty.

"S-so. What do you want to know?" Fulcrum ducks his head a little.

"Hmm, let's see. Tailgate mentioned a little bit about your history to me before. According to our limited intel, it's known that the K-Class was a series of volunteers that allowed themselves to be reconfigured to be used as explosives. He's expressed otherwise. Would you like to detail the Decepticon perspective?"

Ugh, already an uncomfortable subject. But he agreed, and he isn't backing out. "The K-Class isn't... wasn't a series of volunteers. All prisoners in Styx and. And hell, probably other prisons? Were called in for the reformat. Once we were reformatted, the entire prison was reconfigured into a training ground for the K-Class. To beat the fear out of us. It worked for some. Can't say there's much that takes away the fear from me. There's a few that became devoted to the Decepticon Glory about exploding. Really kind of unnerving. That'd be the beating portion, I guess."

Rewind gives a curious noise. "Do you think the reformat was uncalled for, then?"

"Kind of hard to, uh. Judge that without bias." Fulcrum winces a little. "Don't get me wrong. A lot of the prisoners weren't innocent. But I'm sure there were some decent mechs amongst us. Not that I'd know for sure. We didn't exactly socialize in camp or when we were convicts."

"What are your thoughts on the Decepticon cause, then?"

"That's..." Fulcrum folds his hands together, and he goes quiet for a moment. He almost jumps when he feels someone sitting next to him, and it's Tailgate. The other Cybertronian's presence settles him somewhat. "That's a bit more complicated." There's a pause as Fulcrum sorts his thoughts, then he speaks again. "I know what the Decepticons became over the course of time. A lot of them are obsessed with violence, pain, and slaughtering. Torturing. We started off with a good cause and grew from there. Unlike a lot of Decepticons, I was forged during the war, so no, I can't say exactly what it was like in the _very_ beginning. But I can say that at first, the empire had a cause. Most of us lost our way. _I_ lost my way. Just before I was convicted, I ran from a fight. I wasn't worried about the _glory_ of the military or anything like that. I don't think, then, I even believed in anything other than saving my own plating. I guess what I'm trying to say is that a lot of us lost our way. Not _all_ of us, though."

There's another interested glint in Rewind's visor. "If you could have switched sides at all during the war, would you have?"

Fulcrum frowns, then shakes his head. "No. I still think that the original reason we formed was right. We came together for a revolution. To have a better life. To overcome social class. It doesn't matter now, but-- but listen to me. I lost my way, but my belief in the Decepticons was restored because of a small group of Decepticons that everyone didn't care about. Those five scavengers didn't have to pick me back up onto my feet. They could have killed me, taken my parts, and that would have been that. But they didn't. They took what few parts they had, put me back together, and took me along. I..." He trails off and looks at Tailgate. This, he hasn't mentioned yet.

Because it's familiar shame. Because, again, he has so few things to be proud of. Cyberforming isn't part of his pride, and his strongest moment has nothing to do with being a technician.

"I was put on the List. And I know that doesn't mean anything to Tailgate, so let me explain for him and any other Cybertronians that don't understand. The List is something composed by the Decepticon Justice Division. The D.J.D. keep track of traitors, those who have abandoned the army, and the convicted. I didn't die as I was supposed to, so my crime to them is for living. They sent a message to the group of Decepticons I was with, telling them that one of us was part of the List. I didn't say anything. I was a coward. So we stood together. When the D.J.D. did arrive, they called out my name. The scavengers could have turned me in, saved themselves. But they didn't. They stood up for me and fought for me and I... I really _didn't_ deserve it. One of them, Flywheels, _died_ because I was too damned scared. They were hurt, they were maimed, and they fought for me anyway. So I climbed the highest point I could and leapt, trying to take out Tarn and the others. When a K-Con jumps, their T-Cog activates. We transform. So I thought I'd blow up and save the scavengers. Um." Fulcrum squirms a bit sheepishly, and he tries to not feel a flare of embarrassment as Tailgate holds his shoulder. "I didn't realize that my payload was removed, though, so I sorta just kinda crashed into the ground without exploding. They left, at least. We scraped ourselves back up and moved on. They still didn't leave me behind. They took me along. A bunch of nobodies out on a dead planet are probably the bravest people I ever met. So, uh. Bottom line, no. I wouldn't have changed sides, because my belief in the Decepticons was restored by some decent people just trying to get by. They didn't care who I was. The D.J.D. is the worst example of who we are, and the scavengers I met are the best that I know."

"You talk about being afraid a lot. But you jumped for a group of people you barely knew. Do you think it was brave?" Rewind tilts his head a little.

Fulcrum looks down at his own feet for a moment, then looks up after feeling Tailgate gently squeeze his arm. "I don't know about brave. I just felt like that it was the first time I. That I wanted to protect something besides myself."

Gradually, the camera dims. Rewind gives a nod. "I think that's good for the moment. Thanks a lot, Fulcrum."

"Uh. No problem?"

"We'll go ahead and wait a little bit until everyone else arrives for the film. Don't be shy; you can help yourself to some energon," Rewind suggests with an amused tone.

Once he sees Rewind step out of the room, Fulcrum lets out a heavy vent, sighing heavily and sinking in his seat. Even if it's only for a moment, he feels relief.

"Are you all right?" Tailgate leans in a little.

"I'm fine. It was just kind of unnerving talking about all of that. Uh." Fulcrum lets out a shaky breath. "I'm sorry. I never mentioned the D.J.D. before. It's just..."

"Fulcrum." The hand on his arm lowers down to place over the back of the K-Con's. "It's okay. I'm still here. But you know, if you didn't want to talk about it, you didn't have to."

"Well, it's just." There's a hesitant smile from Fulcrum. "It helped, having you here."

There's a shrug from Tailgate. "I don't think you needed me to be strong."

"...Yeah. Yeah, I did."

 

-=-=-

 

The socializing had been kept to a minimum. Which is all right, really; the fact that anyone showed up at all pleased Tailgate. It was still very curious to him to see Drift interact outside of Ratchet, Rodimus, or Ultra Magnus. He feels a bit guilty about it, but it was sort of funny to see Fulcrum cringe back a little at the amount that Drift would chatter about Earth, his theories on the Knights of Cybertron, and _oh, Fulcrum, your aura is so much clearer today_. Pipes had been polite enough, almost skittish to meet and talk to a Decepticon, but after it was pretty quick to see that that K-Con wasn't much of a threat, it seemed like he'd settled somewhat. It's a bit hard to feel threatened by a nervous mech with an unsure smile, Tailgate supposes. Skids had been a decent balance of familiarizing himself with others, but backing off appropriately when Fulcrum became fidgety.

The content of the film probably wasn't important to begin with. Entertaining as it was, it's more a matter of spending time with others than anything else. It's probably the most normal act in the universe and Tailgate sincerely cannot think of anything more pleasing than this.

Perhaps there'll be more next time.

Over the course of the film, he found Fulcrum leaning against him more, the weight not much to him. Though Fulcrum is taller, he's certainly more lanky and couldn't weight more than Tailgate himself. He likes to think that, perhaps, it means that the bronze colored mech is getting more comfortable relaxed.

By the time the film was over, Tailgate finds his conclusion accurate, with Fulcrum's head in his lap. He'd slipped into recharge, sleeping away, curled up tight in some effort to somehow be completely over the smaller mech's thighs. Naturally, he'd only been partly successful, and is now venting softly as he rests. The others are mindful enough to keep it down as they leave. Drift is the last to go, glancing down at Tailgate and Fulcrum. He doesn't say anything; he just smiles, nods, and follows Rewind out.

If he has to be completely honest? It's kind of cute and sparkwarming to see him like this. Fulcrum usually has a lot on his mind, and it can't be easy to be on a ship full of Autobots when most of them don't want anything to do with you. It's good to see that he's calmed enough to be so comfortable around Tailgate. And selfishly? It's good to have this kind of contact again.

Absently, Tailgate finds himself tracing his fingers over Fulcrum's helm, observing every little scrap and bump in his plating. His thumb circles around his auditory sensor, which earns a light twitch from the sleeping Decepticon. Briefly, he considers getting a buffer for him, but Tailgate supposes that might be a bit odd. The idea of polishing up a bomb probably wouldn't be the best idea.

Suddenly, Fulcrum jerks his head and his optics flash online. He heaves air out of his vents and he looks around, as if startled.

"Fulcrum?" Tailgate calls for him, settling a hand to his upper arm.

At first, the skittish Decepticon flinches, then stares down at Tailgate as if he finally recognizes him. "Tailgate. I... um." He lowers his head, a familiar motion signifying a sense of shame.

"Hey." Tailgate curls his fingers over a side of the K-Con's jawline, lifting his face up so they can meet optic to optic. "It's okay. Did you have a bad dream?"

"I usually don't really sleep well." Fulcrum glances around. "Honestly, I'm kind of surprised that I managed to doze off in here. Guess I was pretty comfortable." There's a pause, then an embarrassed sound of him clearing his throat. "O-on your lap."

A small laugh escapes Tailgate and he lightly pats Fulcrum's cheek. "It's all right. It was nice to see you more relaxed than usual."

There's a wry smile on Fulcrum's face now, at least. Better than the fretting and the worrying that he seems to give off most of the time. "You know, you're probably the nicest mech I've ever met. I, um." Hesitantly, he puts his hand over the one on his face, and Tailgate feels his palm rest more comfortably against Fulcrum's face. "I'm not a real big fan of how I ended up here, but I'm glad that I met you."

"I'm glad I met you, too." Tailgate sits up a little straighter. There's some consideration. He doesn't want to make Fulcrum uncomfortable, but he figures that if he does anything wrong, it'll show and Fulcrum will inform him. So, he leans up faintly, nuzzling his mask against the other side of the K-Con's face.

"Uh," is all that comes out, but Fulcrum isn't struggling or stiffening up. Instead, he relaxes into the contact, leaning down. As Tailgate nudges under his chin and brushes his cheek against Fulcrum's neck, the K-Con jerks and lets out a stifled laugh. "Ack, careful! That tickles."

"Hmm." Tailgate doesn't bother hiding his amusement, reaching up and wiggling his fingers under Fulcrum's chin, which earns a short laugh. "Ticklish, huh?"

"Ohhhh no. No no no." With no real strength behind it, Fulcrum shoves away Tailgate's curious hands. "Don't you start that now!"

"Aw, but you have a nice giggle!" Fingers wriggle down to Fulcrum's sides, which in turn causes the Decepticon to burst out into laughter.

"Okay _no_ , that's it!"

Again, no, Fulcrum doesn't have a whole lot of weight to throw around, but he catches Tailgate off guard when he tackles the smaller mech. The bomb disposal unit's visor flickers, not expecting the K-Con's action. Before Tailgate can properly react, he sees Fulcrum's head dip down. Before he can stop the other mech, Fulcrum is blowing into his abdomen.

This earns a loud squeal of laughter from Tailgate, his first instinct to flail his limbs for a moment. Briefly, Fulcrum looks proud of himself before he's leaning in to do it again.

Not this time! Tailgate wraps his legs around Fulcrum's waist, flipping their weight around so that he can pin the Decepticon's wrists to the floor.

There's a pause and there's a look of wonder on the K-Con's face, as though he's both impressed and shocked at the other mech. Fulcrum struggles for a moment, then huffs as he's still pinned.

"Still think I'm real nice?" Tailgate teases.

"Well, I didn't think you were completely _innocent_ ," Fulcrum mutters, giving a half-grin.

Slowly, Tailgate leans in, chuckling as he nuzzles up to Fulcrum's neck, effectively tickling him again. The K-Con laughs and squirms a bit under Tailgate. At first, the movement is negligible, and Tailgate continues with the motion and silently enjoying the sound of Fulcrum snickering and giggling out of his control. It's a raw, free sound. But, as Fulcrum continues to struggle and wriggle, that gives him pause.

A much more soft motion is given. Tailgate rubs his cheek lightly against Fulcrum's, loosening his grip on the wrists. There's some hesitation, but Fulcrum leans up and presses his lips against the faceplate there, inching up slowly to the side of Tailgate's helm. Oh. Oh, that's nice. Tailgate gives a pleased little hum, relaxing against the Decepticon.

The kisses continue, down his faceplate and over his neck cables. He hasn't had _that_ kind of attention in a long time, and although most everyone he's ever spoken to has had only negative things to say about a Decepticon, Fulcrum is so _gentle._ Tailgate slowly vents out, air a little hotter, and he pulls his hands away from the wrists finally.

Hopefully, this isn't too much. He hasn't given himself much thought before to this, but he knows he likes Fulcrum. He likes him a lot. The former technician might be nervous and wary, but he's also smart and -- in Tailgate's opinion -- brave where it counts. Something closer than friends could be... could be good. Really good. As long as he's okay with it. It's just _lifting_ to be wanted by someone.

He gives a happy sigh when Fulcrum nips his cables. This is a good choice.

Carefully, Tailgate lets his hands work down the front of Fulcrum's chest, fingers tracing over the plating. If he focuses, he can see where the armor transforms, the seams that become a bomb. He hasn't seen that mode of Fulcrum's and hasn't felt it very polite to ask, but he's a little curious. More curious _now_ about the Cybertronian under him being really kind of great with that mouth of his. His vents stutter when he feels the tip of a tongue against a cable.

"Sorry. You okay?" Fulcrum stares up at him, optics bright and his expression a little flustered.

"Oh! No, I'm. I'm good." He places a hand to Fulcrum's shoulder, nuzzling under his impressive chin. "That was very nice."

Warily, Fulcrum presses his hands against Tailgate's abdomen. Not for the tickling, not this time. There's a small purr of assurance from Tailgate's engine, warmly inviting the Decepticon to overcome his shyness and explore. The sound causes a small twitch in Fulcrum's fingers, then he begins to carefully drag them down. A hand reaches Tailgate's hip, causing the blue and white mech to wiggle a little. Getting a bit of confidence and comfort in the matter, Fulcrum kisses along his neck again, nipping lightly here and there.

With a pleased sigh, Tailgate relaxes completely, running his hands over the other mech's plating again, inching his fingers along seams and under armor. Fulcrum's engine gives a little growl of approval, the noise more endearing than anything like threatening. The lithe Decepticon places his mouth over a cable and starts to lightly suck, his hands reaching Tailgate's hips.

"Mm." There's a little charge building up. It's not much, but it's nice to feel again. Fulcrum is terribly caring. Adjusting his positioning slightly, Tailgate lets his hand slide down a thigh, curving under it, now really quietly appreciating Fulcrum's build. Although he can understand the K-Con's discomfort with his own alt mode (after all, _who wouldn't_ ) he likes the general mold. He's slender and he can really appreciate the legs and...

Fulcrum squeaks when Tailgate's hand reaches his aft. "You little sneak!"

Tailgate can't help but snicker a little. "You have your hands all over my hips, Fulcrum."

"Well, _you._ You just." At a loss for words, the Decepticon gropes for Tailgate's rear. When the smaller mech jerks, Fulcrum looks more satisfied. "Hope you're proud of yourself."

"Maybe." Playfully, Tailgate rubs his faceplate against Fulcrum's chest. "What about you?"

There's a pause, as if Fulcrum is seriously considering how to answer that.

A beep emits from the K-Classer's wrist. His commlink. Almost bewildered by it, Fulcrum lifts up his arm and opens his wrist, then his optics widen. " _Fragging_ Pit, I'm way overdue at Perceptor's lab!"

It's difficult. Probably more difficult than most things Tailgate's ever done, but he tries to not let disappointment sink in. He fails, giving a dismay groan and hanging his head. It's not Fulcrum's fault in the least and if anything? It's Tailgate's for not paying better attention to the time. "You'd better get over there."

There's a mixed look on Fulcrum's face. His optic ridges are knitted together and he looks from Tailgate to the door, then from the door to Tailgate again. With a frustrated sigh, he cups Tailgate's face in his hands and kisses the plating there. "I really, uh." Another kiss. "I want to talk about this. You know, when we can."

As nice as the lips are on his faceplate, he knows that Fulcrum needs to go. Tailgate grasps both of his hands and nuzzles in briefly. "Sure. I'd like that."

He gets up off of the Decepticon, helping Fulcrum to his feet. There's just a second of hesitation from him as he glances from Tailgate to the door, then sighs and takes off.

Maybe when they have more time.

 

-=-=-

 

Even as Fulcrum had fled down the hallway in a rush to get to the lab, it did nothing to remove how flustered he was feeling since leaving Tailgate behind. When he arrived, Perceptor's emotionless expression was directed completely at him, making Fulcrum stammer and purely incapable of providing a sufficient excuse as to why he had been late. What the hell was he going to say, anyway? _Sorry, I was in the middle of fooling around with Tailgate, hope you don't mind!_

Fortunately, Perceptor didn't press the matter. Instead, he had fetched the bin of scraps and handed it off to Fulcrum. 

"Did you think of something that you'd like to make yet?" 

Fulcrum glances up, then back down to the metal. "I haven't really figured it out. I'm thinking."

What he said before he still means: Tailgate is the nicest person he's ever met. More than kind. Things got a little, um, intense? Personal? Downright intimate, but it was. It was good to have that again. He's been a little worked up about the small, curvy mech since he'd kissed him that one time and.

Scrap, he has it pretty bad, doesn't he? How the hell did it come to this? He knows he really shouldn't be getting involved with one of the crewmembers. Eventually, he's not going to be on this ship anymore. He's a Decepticon; even if Krok never comes for him, they wouldn't let him stay here, right?

...But what if they did? Drift would probably vouch for him. Maybe some others.

Either way, Tailgate doesn't seem like he _doesn't_ want to be around Fulcrum like that. It was nice to do something normal for a change and just watch a movie. He felt _safe_ enough to fall asleep on him.

Tailgate gave him a gift. It's only fair if Fulcrum does the same.

"Do you mind if I borrow the tablet?" he requests, holding out his hand to Perceptor. There's a pause for consideration, but eventually the flat screen is handed over.

Without much of a place to work or sit at, Fulcrum settles to the floor and gets to work. He isn't so good at organizing events, and he doubts he could form any kind of social matter for Tailgate. There are very few on the ship that even can stand Fulcrum. What he can do is create something, at least.

Eventually, he glances up to see Perceptor peering down, his expression one of mild interest. Brainstorm is peering over the workstation, the arrogant air around him never dissipating as he huffs.

"What, is that supposed to be a bomb?" Brainstorm reaches down, quickly snatching the tablet up. "Well, you're not going to design a proper explosive like that. You should really--"

"Ack, hey! It's not a _bomb_!" Leaping to his feet, Fulcrum stands on the tips of his toes as he tries to reach for the tablet. The egotistical scientist just starts sketching over the design with a determined squint. "Brainstorm!"

Sternly, Perceptor plucks the tablet from Brainstorm's fingers. "Do you really think that he would have any wish to create a bomb? Or that he's stupid enough to under my supervision? More the question, _why_ are you designing one for a Decepticon."

"Obviously, I was just showing him how it's done," Brainstorm grates out.

"Right, because me being K-Class means I have no idea how to make one," Fulcrum grumbles while accepting the tablet back from Perceptor. "Not that I would."

"I believe you have your own project to attend to?" Perceptor suggests to Brainstorm.

In response, Brainstorm scowls. "Definitely more important than this."

A heavy sigh is vented out from Fulcrum, his shoulders slumping. "Thanks, Perceptor."

"Due to the fact that you are my responsibility for this period of time, perhaps you should tell me what you really are working on."

There's a small shrug of Fulcrum's shoulders, some minor embarrassment. "It's... it's a present," he mutters.

A pause is given as Perceptor considers for a moment, looking down at the design. Then, he nods slowly. "I see. I think you're going to need more parts, Fulcrum."

 

-=-=-

 

Cyclonus shakes his head in some form of something. Tailgate supposes it's probably disgust, that wouldn't surprise him, but it can't be helped. He sits in thought, looking out the window. 

There's anxiety about seeing Fulcrum again, but definitely also excitement. He just wishes it was sooner.

Cyclonus leaves, back turned to Tailgate again, and that's fine. He doesn't need his approval.

 

-=-=-

 

As the shift ends, one last favor is called in and Fulcrum is able to smuggle in the cube of high-grade after Swerve gave him a mix of a smile and a guilty grimace. Like some sort of peace offering, he manages to nudge it to Fortress Maximus's cell between the bars using the ridiculous chopsticks given to him.

All he receives is a red stare in return.

Fulcrum shrugs and turns onto his side, back to the former warden.

An effort was made.

 

-=-=-

 

There's only so much that can be done with watching.

 

-=-=-

 

The last few days has left him feeling cold. 

The moment with Fulcrum had been wonderful, to have been close and affectionate with someone. To really feel like he was wanted and needed. There's a lot that he respects and likes about him, and it really seemed like Fulcrum had felt similarly and definitely seemed to enjoy it. He wanted to talk about it. It could be that maybe Tailgate is over-thinking his situation, but...

Well, every time he had been trying to catch up with Fulcrum, there was something else on the Decepticon's mind.

"Not right now! Gotta go!" or "I'm really needed at Perceptor's lab!" and more recently "I'm meeting up with Rewind. I'll talk to you later, Tailgate!"

Previously, Fulcrum really hadn't been able to fit in well at the ship, and understandably. He's still technically a prisoner, and he's definitely a Decepticon. They're friends and _what else_ Tailgate isn't sure yet, he knows he'd be okay with being closer to him, but why is Fulcrum avoiding him suddenly?

He looks idly to the board game he'd played with the K-Con the one time. It's still in the middle of where they'd last left off in Warfleet. Politely, he still hasn't looked at where Fulcrum's pieces are, leaving everything as it had been. It's all he can really focus on, to look at, and think fondly of the game when they had the chance to place. Otherwise, the room is empty and quiet and it's a little awful.

Earlier, Cyclonus had been present. Tailgate had asked how long he'd be gone.

There was the usual cold look, then finally just one word spoken, "Awhile."

Not very definitive, and it leaves Tailgate to his thoughts. He's sure he could go to the bar to keep his head busy with the chatter of others, but that doesn't appeal to him right now.

There's a knock on his door. That definitely can't be Cyclonus.

"Tailgate? You in there?"

Frag, if that doesn't uplift his spark a little. His visor brightens. "Fulcrum?" he calls back, approaching the door. It opens and he tilts his head.

There's a box between the two of them being held in Fulcrum's hands. There's a small, uncertain smile from him before he requests, "Mind if I come in?"

"Sure?" Now Tailgate is a little confused. He steps aside, letting the slender Decepticon slip by into the room.

Once the door is closed, Fulcrum turns on one hand and holds the box out, his arms stiff. "I'm... _so_ bad at this, but. Uh. Here. This is for you."

"You got me something?" Tailgate murmurs, tone filled with downright disbelief. The last time he'd ever received a gift had been a very, very long time ago, even longer before he missed six million years of history. He takes the box delicately into his hands, as if it would just crumple at too much pressure.

Slowly, he sits down on the edge of his berth, removing the lid of the box. He reaches in and holds up a small plate with an orb sitting on top of it. There's a switch that he can see. Numbly, with little thought, he presses it.

The reaction is instant. The orb lifts and lights up, illuminating a portion of the room and showing what it really is.

"Cybertron," Tailgate murmurs.

More than that. He's been shown images and videos of what their home planet degenerated into due to the war. Often, it's crushed his spark to see, remembering how it had looked once. Yet, the _model_ that's hovering and glowing in front of him is from history, as if pulled fresh from his memory.

Wringing his hands a little nervously, Fulcrum sits down next to Tailgate. "I'm not really an artist, and I'd be lying if I said I made it on my own. I did most of the technical work and welding. That wasn't so hard. But getting it accurate, um... I ended up asking Rewind's help for that, since he'd have that kind of data. Then somehow Cyclonus got involved and helped me make a lot of corrections." _That_ earns a surprised glance from Tailgate. "I can't really paint, so Skids introduced me to Rung and helped me get that done. Perceptor made sure I had enough lights. So, uh. Anyway. I hope that you--"

"I love it," Tailgate says softly. "It looks right."

"Wish I'd been there," Fulcrum adds wistfully. "But I'm glad."

It sinks in a little. No, Fulcrum hadn't been avoiding him at all and he feels plenty of relief as well as a bit of humility that he'd ever thought so. Maybe after all this time not feeling like he'd been fitting in he'd become worried about losing someone he feels close with. It's a kind gift, and he isn't so sure what he'd done to deserve it, but he's endeared and outright charmed. Flattered that some, even _Cyclonus_ , had helped. He only wonders what the meeting would have been like between Fulcrum and him, and he wishes a bit he'd been there.

He'll ask another time.

For now, Tailgate places the glowing model of Cybertron that he had known it to be onto a nearby table. He grasps for Fulcrum's hand, nuzzling the fingertips.

"Thank you," he whispers honestly. "Do you have to leave anytime soon?"

"Not for awhile. Drift cleared up the roster for me." Fulcrum smiles fondly, leaning down to gently bump his forehead against Tailgate's. 

Awhile. Right.

That's a good length of time.

 

-=-=-

 

Yes. A paradox.

To him, the Decepticon is a pathetic representation of the revolutionaries that Cyclonus had heard of. At first, he thought little of the lanky mech that'd been arrested and forced onto the _Lost Light._ Over the course of time, he watched him, how he handled his situation.

Weak of body, strength in mind. That eventually became apparent.

Cyclonus is done watching, satisfied with his conclusion.


	4. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fulcrum ends up on the Lost Light. Tailgate ends up vouching for him. Nobody is happy about it except probably them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TITLE: Bombs Away  
> CHAPTER: Four | Trust  
> FANDOM: Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW  
> RATING: NC-17 for outright porn in this chapter and it is of the sticky and tactile fashion. If that's not your jam, skip the entire first scene.  
> SUMMARY: Fulcrum and Tailgate become intimate.

The room is still partly illuminated by the model of Cybertron that he'd just given to Tailgate. It's dim enough to not be distracting, light enough to be an attractive portion of the room. Slowly, on its hoverstand, it turns. Fulcrum is grateful for the help he'd received from others, but he's also a bit prideful of the work he's done, especially considering Tailgate's reaction. It was well worth the work and putting up with Cyclonus' surliness in order to get it done. 

Right now, they're sitting quietly, leaning up against each other. From this angle, the way Tailgate's head is comfortably tucked under his chin, he finds himself looking down. His optics brighten slightly and he knows he feels a small rev in his engine as he observes. If he has to be completely and utterly honest with himself, yes he's consistently found the other mech's frame to be described as few things besides adorable. Even now, he finds Tailgate really damned cute, the way his facemask is just slightly hidden against Fulcrum's shoulder. On a more detailed end, he's able to find the curves really attractive. It occurs to him that he really can't think of many other mechs that have a form quite like Tailgate's; most of the Decepticon army is composed of bulkier frames, sharp angles, armored for battle. Even Fulcrum himself isn't exactly as shapely. Tailgate's more unique, easy to pick out.

It's nice.

Pleasantly, he finds his optics drawn to his well-forged thighs, then ducks his head slightly. Yeah, okay, he's checking out Tailgate and it's not like they haven't felt each other up a little bit before, but he actually wants Tailgate's respect.

"You said you wanted to talk about before?" Tailgate says.

Fulcrum lifts his chin a bit so he can turn his head and look down at Tailgate properly. "Ah, yeah. I did. I guess it's just hard to bring up without sounding nervous."

"I make you nervous?" The way Tailgate asks that makes him sound a little baffled.

"A little? I mean, in a good way." Fortunately, he settles somewhat when Tailgate holds his hand. It seems to never fail to calm him. Hell, apparently being around Tailgate has made him feel secure enough to sleep on. That has to count for something. "I really... really care about you. I want you to be happy."

A hand settles to the side of Fulcrum's face, causing him to lean down a little as he receives an affectionate nuzzle to his cheek from the smaller mech. "I like you too."

It doesn't seem to take much more to pick up where they left off a few days ago. Fairly quickly, Fulcrum finds himself on his back to the berth, letting his hands roam over Tailgate's polished plating. It's hard at first to unwind and let himself not be so damned shy, but he means what he said: he wants Tailgate to be happy. He wants, specifically, to _make_ him happy.

Tailgate's carefully crafted hands slide over his chest, down his narrow waist and over his hips. There's a startled vent from Fulcrum, but he doesn't brush him off or fight back. Instead, he's leaning his head up to press his lips against Tailgate's mask, working his way down to his neck again to lick and nibble on the cables. An approving gasp and a little purr of Tailgate's engine is enough to confirm that'd been an especially good decision. Fingers drag back up Fulcrum's chest, then down again, ghosting over his thighs. 

This time is less of a surprise, but Fulcrum still squeaks a little with a hand to his rear. He lets out a small huff of air from his vents, reaching for Tailgate's aft. Like the rest of him, it's more rounded than himself and it just kind of fits nicely in his palm and wow he's seriously thinking deeply about the logistics of how Tailgate's aft is shaped. That definitely flusters him. It draws him back to thinking about how nice his thighs look and the rest of him. He's cute and smart and hopeful and Fulcrum has never met anyone like him before.

He makes being on the Lost Light bearable, that's for damn sure.

"Fulcrum," Tailgate says his name, and it sounds almost a bit frantic. Impatient? It sounds good. "Would you... would you open for me?" Hands smooth over Fulcrum's chest again. "Please. I'd like to see what it looks like."

"You're not gonna find my payload," Fulcrum comments wryly. It earns a tiny giggle and the K-Con feels an inch of pride at that.

"I know. But I want to see as much of you as I can."

Oh, that's definitely flattering. There's a bit of squirming from Fulcrum before he lets his plating adjust and spread apart naturally, exposing his abdomen. Wires and cables are on display. For the moment, he keeps his spark casing closed.

He likes Tailgate, but Decepticon instinct keeps that part shut off from access.

There's a small curious sound from Tailgate as he leans in close, blue visor glowing a little. While Fulcrum's aware enough of the other mech's skilled fingers, he really feels it now as they slide lightly over his inside components. It earns a gasp, but obediently the Decepticon remains still as Tailgate continues his investigation.

It's hard to be proud of his appearances when he's stuck in this frametype. Not that his previous frame before the K-Class reconfiguration was all that amazing, but it's something he idly misses. That and it doesn't help that his plating is raw and rough from everything he's been through. He'd prefer if it he could to have his previous frame, he idly thinks, if he wishes to impress Tailgate at all, but it seems as if the more shapely mech is fine with him as it is. There's a sense of eagerness as Tailgate thumbs over a cable, which sends off a spark of pleasure through Fulcrum's systems.

He can't help but moan a little.

Tailgate pauses, then tilts his head a little. "Would you like it if I opened?" He puts a hand over his own chest to better implicate his question.

"Yeah," Fulcrum lets out, a tad breathless. He smooths his palms up Tailgate's plating, liking how each little curve guides his fingertips. "Please."

It's mesmerizing to watch the plating come apart and slide out of the way. Physically, the two of them are pretty different in many ways; whereas Tailgate is more polished and shined, Fulcrum's plating is clean but hardly at all impressive. Even with the interiors, there's something softer about Tailgate in comparison to the arrangement inside of Fulcrum. He's a bit envious of Tailgate, but he mostly is very much admiring him, too. 

Carefully, he slips his fingers inside, letting them carefully feel how everything's been set up. He goes still a moment if only to arch his back, hissing pleasantly as Tailgate continues to observe him. With his index finger, he begins to twirl a few wires about the tip, then gently tugs.

" _Oh_ ," Tailgate lets out, his visor flickering.

That's a satisfying reaction. Yeah, if he wasn't getting worked up before, Fulcrum definitely is now. What with fingers playing up his insides and watching how Tailgate responds to certain touches, there's certainly a charge building. While Fulcrum's quietly proud of his own hands, being a technician, he finds that Tailgate is just as elegant, tweaking a wire here and stroking a cable there. In return, Fulcrum slides his hands over ports and watches Tailgate arch his back slightly, sighing into the contact.

It's good like this, but.

He finds that he wants more.

"Tailgate," he tries at first, then vents harder when Tailgate thumbs over his hardware. He lifts his hips up, just enough that he can scrape his interface paneling against his partner's. "I want, uh. If that's okay--"

"Uh-huh." Barely constrained giddiness slips into Tailgate's voice. There's some notable reluctance as his hands pull from Fulcrum's chest, but the K-Con pays the same respect and withdraws his own, letting his plating slip back into place.

Lightly, Fulcrum rubs his fingers along Tailgate's hips, trying to coax him. Not that he apparently needs to; a few seconds later and Tailgate is eagerly commanding his panel to slide back and let his spike slide out. _Cute_ is not a word that Fulcrum would often apply to anyone's interface equipment, but it seems like Tailgate is perpetually taking monopoly on that particular adjective. The smaller mech's spike curves up just so, easily seen between them. It's thick, but it's not very long either, lines of glowing blue lining up to the tip with white plating.

Yeah. Fulcrum finds himself very aware that he's definitely thinking of it as _cute_ all right. Well.

Casually as he can, he brushes his fingers along the base of Tailgate's spike. It earns an adorable little moan, but white hands are pawing at Fulcrum's hips. "What about yours?"

"Well, um." Fulcrum ducks his head, then releases the cover. With a mental command, his own member emerges, jutting out between them. The coloration is probably odd, he supposes, the way it's a complete contrast to the rest of his color scheme. It's more pastel than the rest of his bronze plating, a part of him that wasn't changed because, well, why would the Decepticons have really bothered with reconfiguring his interfacing equipment? He was expected to die, after all.

The expression Tailgate wears is one of curiosity rather than anything like repulsion. A thumb slides from base to tip, causing Fulcrum to shiver and twitch his hips. "Did the rest of you look like this? I mean, um. Your color scheme," Tailgate wonders.

"Something like that." Fulcrum offers a wry smile. "Let's not, ah. Worry about it?"

There's a nod of agreement from Tailgate. "Sorry, I didn't--"

"No no. You're fine. I just." The K-Con leans up and leans his forehead against Tailgate's. "I just wanna focus on being with you."

The glow in Tailgate's visor dims slightly, almost shyly. Gradually, he leans forward, nuzzling against Fulcrum's cheek. Hands ease into stroking each other, wrists bumping and fingers teasing. While Fulcrum gasps and shivers, he feels his plating heat up pleasantly as he listens to Tailgate moan and his engine purr. That has no business being so pleasant to hear, but it _is_.

He wants this. He can't remember wanting to interface with anyone so badly before, but all he can think about is how much he's been endeared towards Tailgate. How good the smaller mech has been to him, how sweet he is, intelligent and cute and _frag_ he's got it bad for him. Fulcrum finally groans and opens his valve cover, kissing down the side of Tailgate's mask and to his neck.

It's an unspoken invitation and he doesn't think that he needs to say much more than that.

There's a soft exhale from Tailgate as he looks down, his visor looking over at the open valve. That's only _a lot_ flustering. Fortunately, Tailgate is taking this fairly seriously, lightly curling his hands around Fulcrum's hips.

"Should I prepare you?"

There's a brief shake of Fulcrum's head. "I'll be all right."

"Okay then." 

There's a small tremor in Tailgate's hands; it's felt easily, considering they're gripping Fulcrum's hips. If it's fear or anticipation or something, it's kind of hard to tell. Slowly, he looks up toward the other mech, than places a hand over one of his. Assurance isn't easy for Fulcrum, but he tries, leaning up and brushing his cheek against Tailgate's.

The glow in the smaller mech's visor brightens just so, and he looks at the Decepticon. There's a quiet, relieved vent before he leans in close, pressing his mask against Fulcrum's neck. Without really even thinking about it, Fulcrum slides his arms up around Tailgate's shoulders. 

Finally, he feels the head of Tailgate's spike press against the rim of his valve. There's a tiny shudder of anticipation that runs through Fulcrum. He spreads his thighs, hooking his legs loosely around the back of Tailgate's knees as if it's an intense need to be as close as possible to him. He can feel little huffs of hot air from Tailgate's vents against the nape of his neck, engine rumbling in his chest. It's all warm and welcoming.

He can't remember the last time he's ever felt so damned comfortable, all things considered.

Tailgate rolls his hips forward, slow and easy. The thickness of the spike is about what he expects considering his initial admiration over the size of it before; it's wide enough to stretch him out pleasantly, and it's not so big that he can't think as it slides in. It feels good and unbelievably satisfying to have Tailgate finally work his way inside.

Briefly, the only distracting factor is the way that Tailgate's head tilts, as if he's fretting over how this is going. He keeps checking down, looking at Fulcrum, glancing between their bodies as if he needs to make sure no damage is being done or _something_. The worrying is a bit flattering, but it's definitely unnecessary. He's going to wear himself out that way before they even get around to finishing.

"Here." At the sound of Fulcrum's voice, Tailgate immediately looks at him, attentive. Reaching down, the K-Con takes one of Tailgate's hands. Their fingers intertwine and the smile from Fulcrum is kept as he looks up at his partner. For him, at least, it feels like a good reminder to have of exactly who they are and who they can rely on.

Each other.

With the gesture, Tailgate seems to settle a little. With probably more caution than is necessary, he draws his hips back and rolls them forward, sliding out and then back _in_ to Fulcrum. There's a soft exhale of the K-Con's vents, his head tipping back slightly. It's an easygoing pace that Tailgate takes at first and Fulcrum really has _zero_ complaints, sighing as the curvier mech rocks in and out. It just seems a bit stiff with Tailgate worrying as much as he is, but it doesn't make it bad.

Fulcrum doesn't want this over with quickly, and he quietly assumes that Tailgate probably feels the same. The time taken for this is slow and gentle and there's absolutely nothing wrong with that. It's been awhile for both of them. Eager as Fulcrum is to be intimate with Tailgate, he doesn't want to rush either. He concentrates on how they're wrapped up with each other physically, how warm Tailgate feels. The plating, the member sliding in, his engine, even the exvents of air.

It's not perfect, but it's _theirs_ and that's all that matters. This is what he wants. But he doesn't want Tailgate to spend so much time fussing over him.

"You won't hurt me," Fulcrum assures, lightly dragging his fingertips up Tailgate's arched back. "Mm. I'm not the most durable, but I'm not _that_ fragile."

"Ah?" Tailgate's visor glows a little more. "Should I go faster?"

Bit by bit, Fulcrum hugs his legs around the back of Tailgate's thighs, pulling him closer. By doing so, he takes a bit more control, having the bomb disposal unit slide back inside. Tailgate lets out a quiet squeak. "If you want? I just don't want you to be concerned about hurting me or making me comfortable." With a hushed shudder, Fulcrum angles up his hips slightly more, effectively pressing his aft against Tailgate's thighs. The way that Tailgate squirms implies that it feels good, or so Fulcrum hopes. "M'fine. I'm enjoying this. I promise. I really like having you inside of me."

"I.. okay." Tailgate presses his mask against Fulcrum's neck, thrusting a little more sharply with a tiny groan. "Okay. I'm sorry."

"Shh. Don't apologize. Just..." Fulcrum squeezes his hand. "Just think about how it feels right now. _Ah_ , that's good, really good."

The coaching helps. Not immediately, but after some more coaxing words and hushed assurances, Tailgate rolls in more smoothly, more confidently. The slow pace hadn't been bad and Fulcrum knows he's fond of how sweet and kind Tailgate is, but there had been a bit of reluctance from the smaller mech. It shouldn't be that way. They should both enjoy this.

The air of relaxation makes it all the better. Snuggling up close, Fulcrum moans against Tailgate, lubricating more as a sign of pleasure. Tailgate's engine stutters briefly, visor brightening and seemingly transfixed with how much the K-Classer is enjoying himself. Fulcrum's valve hugs tightly over the spike pressing in and out of him, showing with more than just words how much he does want this.

The stimulation makes Fulcrum's mind feel like it's full of static in the best way possible. He grunts softly at every movement from his partner, every increased thrust earning another noise. Tailgate's shuddering and his engine is revving up louder and louder, his hand squeezing Fulcrum's tightly. Both their vents pant and finally, Tailgate is whining against him, bucking a little harder.

"I-- _oh_." Tailgate trembles, giving one last jerk of his hips before he's overloading, crying out. Fluid is released, filling up the Decepticon's valve. It's hot and an incredibly satisfying feeling, but...

But Fulcrum knows he isn't done yet. He doesn't want to nag, but it's hard to wait. Not perfect, he wryly reminds himself, but it's still good. He just needs to finish.

Tailgate sighs, then glances down at the K-Con. "Um. S-sorry, I-- it's just been so long, I--"

"It's fine, it's okay." Kisses are pressed against Tailgate's cheek, across his mask. "I'm glad it felt good, I just, uh. I need to..."

"Tell me what to do?" Tailgate gives him a pleading look.

If it isn't bad enough that Tailgate is already really damned cute, but that look... hell, if he used that look more often on anyone, who could ever say _no_ to him? Not that Fulcrum had even considered turning him away, but sheesh!

He pulls his legs back, spreading his thighs. "Go ahead and pull out. _Ahh_ , you're fine, it's fine." Fulcrum leans his head back a little as he feels the thick spike slide out of him, squirming a bit at the feeling of lubrication dribbling out. "If you could use your hands?"

"Like this?" With some hesitation, Tailgate is slipping a finger up into the K-Con. 

"Y-yes. Um. You could probably use two, though. _Yes, yes_ like that." Plating quivers and Fulcrum groans at the second finger joining in, both of them curling and jerking into him. That's good, that should be enough. Count in Tailgate sincerely wanting to try to please him and he can feel the enthusiasm.

It's good. It's not like having the spike, but it's not bad, feeling the fingers flex inside and thrust in.

While he reluctantly lets go of Tailgate's hand when the bomb disposal unit pulls it away, he gives a surprised shout when he feels it's for sliding up his spike. That's almost too much. Fulcrum rolls his hips up, moaning and trying to meet with the hands teasing and pleasuring him. With the very clear language of the K-Classer enjoying himself, Tailgate sets to work harder.

As his hand slides up the spike, the thumb presses down a little harder, rolling over the head before it moves back down to the base. Inside his slick valve, fingers scissor apart and jerk harder into Fulcrum, no longer shy about their interaction. Gradually, Tailgate starts to twist the fingers inside as they draw out and push back in, grinding against sensory nodes. It rushes through Fulcrum and his vents hiccup slightly.

" _Tailgate_ ," he groans before lifting his hips up from the berth, the motion quick and sharp as he finally finishes.

Mindful, Tailgate begins to slow down his hands, working Fulcrum through the overload. Uncaring about how much sticky fluid there is between them, Tailgate undoubtedly finds his hands a mess with the lubrication that releases out the spike, and the amount still flowing out from his valve. Vents panting loudly, Fulcrum just lets himself relax against the berth, trying not to wriggle too much as hands pull away from him.

He glances up, then tiredly holds up his arms, as if trying to reach for Tailgate.

"You sure? I'm kind of a mess," the smaller mech points out.

"I don't really care. Just... please. C'mere?"

Slowly, Tailgate snuggles in close. Fulcrum sincerely could not care less about the smear of fluid against his plating as Tailgate holds him in return. Unwisely, he could probably fall asleep like this. He won't, but that's a sure sign of how relaxed he feels.

Tailgate nuzzles his neck. "Was it okay?"

Fulcrum snorts a little, if only to try to keep from laughing. "Was it-- Tailgate, it was definitely way more than _okay_. I like being with you."

"I just don't want to disappoint you."

"You're not going to. I mean, if you can deal with being with a cowardly Decepticon, I really doubt you have much to worry about."

Tailgate lowers his helm, huffing softly. "You're braver than you think."

Unsure of what to do with that compliment, Fulcrum just kind of rolls with it. He shrugs his shoulders and says, "And you won't disappoint me. I promise."

"All right." A bit more relaxed, Tailgate curls into the embrace.

If anything, Fulcrum figures, they could definitely stand to do that again.

 

-=-=-

 

To be honest, it was tempting for the both of them to stay in berth for the rest of probably _ever_ , or at least Tailgate felt that way. Eventually, though, Fulcrum mentions he has another medbay appointment. It means having to get each other up and get cleaned up. While trying to get Fulcrum and himself out from the berth, Tailgate had tried (and ultimately failed) to not laugh at the situation and how much they were just dragging their feet about it. A brief spray and wipe-down ought to do it. They could tend to the washracks later.

"Do you mind if I go with you? I'm not really doing anything else," Tailgate asks.

There's a pause, then a shrug. "Sure. It's gonna be a little more boring than last time, though. Ambulon's doing the exam."

"I don't mind. I just..." Tailgate slides his hand into Fulcrum's. "I just want to be with you. That's all."

That's enough, it seems.

As they make it into the medbay, Ambulon immediately herds them away, though he does glance at Tailgate briefly.

"Sit here," the medic instructs Fulcrum to one of the berths.

With a sigh, the K-Con arranges himself accordingly, just letting Ambulon do as needed. Arms are tested for general flexibility, the increased brightness of his optics noted, and so on. Eventually, Ambulon pauses during his exam, peering down at Fulcrum.

"What?" Fulcrum raises an optical ridge. He follows the general line of sight down to himself.

At the time, Tailgate had not really thought anything of it. He still doesn't feel overly concerned, but there _are_ scrapes along Fulcrum's hips. Paint was exchanged a bit, but they'd taken care of that for some level of discreetness.

But it's be pretty obvious for a medic to find.

"Tailgate," Ambulon calls out.

"Yes?"

"I would suggest that the next time you get intimate with someone, at least check to see what their medical record is. Fulcrum is new to the ship," Ambulon suggests with a flatter tone than usual. "He doesn't have any viruses, but you wouldn't have known that unless you'd checked with one of us here. I advise more caution."

"We, uh! We didn't do anything-- it's not what it looks like--" Fulcrum sputters out.

Tailgate narrows his visor slightly. "It's not...?" What's that even supposed to _mean?_ Did he regret it after all?

"I mean!"

Ambulon folds his arms. "Right. In any case, your growing health is satisfactory."

"Thanks. Excuse us." Tailgate reaches up for Fulcrum's wrist, gently tugging him away.

"Tailgate, I. Uh." Tailgate isn't stopping, listening to Fulcrum stumble over words as they walk out of the medbay. "Look, I just-- can you stop?"

There's a brief glance over the hallway to make sure they're alone enough, then Tailgate looks up at Fulcrum. "Why were you making those excuses? I thought..."

"I'm sorry." Fulcrum's shoulders sink a little. "I just didn't think you'd want anyone to know you were... you know, with me?"

"I'm not embarrassed," Tailgate says firmly. "Are you?"

"No!" Fulcrum jerks his head back a little. "I'm really sorry. I'm not even part of the crew, I'm a _Decepticon_ , and so ... I made the wrong assumption about how you'd probably feel. I really like you a lot. I mean that."

"It's okay." Tailgate exhales softly, reaching up and squeezing his hand. "I'm not mad. And I really don't care who knows. All right?"

"Yeah. I got it." Fulcrum offers a tiny smile.

Tailgate nods, a little more relaxed. "Good."

 

-=-=-

 

Around the corner from Tailgate and Fulcrum, Swerve has to cover his own mouth to keep from sputtering.


	5. Understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fulcrum ends up on the Lost Light. Tailgate ends up vouching for him. Nobody is happy about it except probably them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TITLE: Bombs Away  
> CHAPTER: Five | Understand  
> FANDOM: Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW  
> RATING: PG-13, just to play it safe.  
> SUMMARY: Everybody knows. Everybody sets up a confrontation of some kind. Absolutely everyone.  
> NOTES: Chapter beta'd and edited by Obfuscobble. Thank you immensely for all your help.

It's been a long time since Fulcrum has felt this close to anyone. Although he's still not fond of his situation on the _Lost Light_ , he is grateful to have met Tailgate. That and getting involved with him, apparently. Call him sappy, but it makes him feel pretty warm in the spark. He still doesn't completely have Tailgate's courage in regards to not caring about what others think about their relationship, but that's only because he's quietly concerned for how Tailgate will be treated. Not necessarily himself.

Either way, he's agreed to try to not worry about it. Fulcrum has no shame in this, but he knows that if others find out, not everyone is going to feel the same way.

Well, it's not like everyone is going to spontaneously find out overnight anyway, Fulcrum assures himself.

After bidding a good night to Tailgate and returning to his cell, the beginning of his shift is a bit, uh, peculiar when he makes it to the bar. Fulcrum is used to getting various nasty looks from people, but eventually a lot of the crew just kind of started to ignore his presence. Not always, some went out of their way to bother him, but this is different. Everyone is staring at him in either a disgusted way or like he got a new gaudy paint job or something.

"Uh," Fulcrum gets out, feeling more confused than bothered. Awkwardly, he scoots himself close to the bar, peering towards Swerve. "Is there a reason everyone is giving me a look?"

"Well, it-- eh-heh, maybe it's the chin? Yeah, it's gotta be the chin." Swerve forces a smile. "It _is_ very impressive and all!"

" _Swerve._ "

"I'm just saying. It's an unforgettable chin and you should be proud."

"Swerve, I'm serious!"

"So you and your chinliness," Swerve starts, very clearly avoiding the subject, and shoves a tray into Fulcrum's hands, "should go make sure the tables are cleaned up, yeah?"

On one hand, he's supposed to be here helping Swerve out as the short Autobot directs. On the _other_ hand, he clearly knows something is going on here. Not that he could see how! Ambulon isn't exactly known for gossip, so who else would _know?_

Fulcrum scowls and takes the tray. "Talk to you later," he promises.

It's little things. No one is outright hostile to the point of _hitting_ him, but the looks and the harsh nudges he's given aren't exactly of the friendly sort. He gets friendly pushes and touches; Krok and his crew are like that. He knows the _difference._

Something's up. Maybe it's his faction? Frag if he knows.

But he pauses when Trailbreaker swings his glass, engex spilling all over the front of his plating. Fulcrum peers down at himself, frowning.

"Whoops." Trailbreaker shrugs with a bit of a nasty grin. "You know me. Spills here and there."

There's a rare feeling of a temper rising in Fulcrum, but he knows better than to give much of a reaction. His grip on the tray is tight, close to bending or breaking it. He needs to let it go. Frag if he doesn't want to react or. Or something.

There's a hand to his elbow and he's gently tugged away. "C'mere," Skids mutters, shoving a rag into Fulcrum's hand.

"Skids." Fulcrum stares at him for a moment, then awkwardly wipes at himself. "What the hell is going on?"

"Well, let's just say that there's a _tiny_ rumor going around about you and Tailgate."

So it _is_ that. How, though? Who would spread that around?

"Swerve," Fulcrum grates out. "I'm gonna kill-- I mean, uh. No, I wouldn't _kill_ -kill him, but..." Ugh, that must have come out wrong. Most other Decepticons would make good on that kind of statement. Fulcrum shakes his head and just moves on to a more important question. "Do you know if Tailgate's okay?"

"I haven't actually seen him," Skids admits. "He hasn't been here, if that helps."

For a moment, he considers. Fulcrum is tempted to just leave right now and go find Tailgate anyway. To hell with his shift; he can get chewed out by Ultra Magnus if it means he can check on Tailgate.

"So I'm guessing the rumor's probably not too off its mark," Skids comments wryly.

"Not that it's anyone's business, but I. I like him," Fulcrum admits quietly.

"I know. I mean, I figured you wouldn't be working on a model of Cybertron for just _anyone_ , after all. Not everyone here knows you that well, but _I_ definitely know you wouldn't hurt or take advantage of him."

Fulcrum sputters. "Is _that_ what everyone's thinking?"

"The big bad Decepticon comes along and takes advantage of poor, sweet naive Tailgate? Yeah, that's generally it." Skids shrugs, his half-smile never quite disappearing. "Look, don't let it weigh on you too much."

Well. This isn't the worst thing that Fulcrum's ever dealt with, but his mind is still focused on Tailgate. Has any of this reached him? Is he okay? Frankly, Fulcrum is used to being _picked_ on, but it just enrages him to think that maybe Tailgate is suffering any of that potential treatment. With a small huff of air, the K-Con finally just puts down his tray. He'll go make sure.

So he thinks.

When he turns around, he doesn't get very far, as he's faced with Drift.

"You'd better come with me," the third-in-command advises.

Frag.

"Skids, um." Fulcrum looks at the theoretician hopefully. "Thanks anyway? For the heads up."

"No problem," Skids assures. "Hang in there."

As Fulcrum is escorted out by Drift, the K-Classer sighs to himself.

This can't be good.

 

-=-=-

 

Tailgate slowly swings his legs from where he's seated. It's not the first time sitting here. Everything about the room feels like it just completely dwarfs him in every way imaginable: the desk, the size of the room itself, the chair he's even sitting in, the _sign_ on the desk. Oh yes, Tailgate is more than a little familiar with sitting before the _Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord_ label.

He's just not sure what it's for this time.

So, Tailgate sits as patiently as he can, twiddling his thumbs together as he looks up at Ultra Magnus, who peers down at him with a stern gaze that somehow seems to be a deadly mix of concern and a hint of disappointment.

"Tailgate," Ultra Magnus begins, addressing him slowly and patiently. 

"Sir?" Tailgate perks up a little.

"I'm not one who tries to pay much attention to rumors and gossip. However, I think it's also fairly obvious as to why you're here right now." Ultra Magnus folds his hands together. "I'm concerned about you and the Decepticon."

Tailgate tilts his head faintly. "Fulcrum? What about him, sir?"

"It's my understanding that you and he have had... relations."

Ah. That. Tailgate doesn't feel any particular shade of shame in him, but it is immediately awkward that _Ultra Magnus_ not only knows about it, somehow, but also wants to talk about it. Of all people.

"We did," Tailgate admits freely.

Ultra Magnus somehow manages to frown more than usual. "I was under the impression that you thoroughly understood what it means for him to be a Decepticon. You're an Autobot now, Tailgate."

"Everyone calls Cyclonus a Decepticon," Tailgate points out quietly. Though a lot of people have said he'd better off staying away from him, he hasn't. He sticks by Cyclonus.

There's a pause, and with a hint of reluctance Ultra Magnus adds, "He's crew. The K-Con is not. He's serving a sentence. He is dangerous and you should _not_ trust him. Not that I am fond of the idea of anyone taking companionship with each other on this ship -- the last thing we need are _more_ broken protocols -- you could... Tailgate, you..." After trailing off, Ultra Magnus gives a vague hand gesture, as if that'll somehow fill in the words he is so desperately attempting to give.

This is clearly not an easy conversation for Ultra Magnus, discussing matters like emotion and relationships and such. The way he trails off, Ultra Magnus has an expression that implies discomfort at the topic, but he still wears his concern in his optics. The implication that he's worried for Tailgate.

And that Tailgate could do better.

"I like him." Tailgate puts his hands into his lap. "I like him a lot. He doesn't treat me like I don't _know_ anything. He's kind, funny, and smart and... and I wish more people knew him like that, instead of just as a Decepticon. I remember what Rewind showed me, and I know what I chose. I'm not changing my mind about that, but I don't know how I feel about the Decepticons now."

"They're criminals. He scavenged from the dead, Tailgate. That is a broken _law_ ," Ultra Magnus points out. "And I'm sure he has several more behind him."

"You don't _know_ that. He's good, and I like him. You... you don't have to like that." There's a tiny sensation of thrill budding in Tailgate's spark at the feeling of standing up for himself _and_ for Fulcrum. He's casually defended Cyclonus, and he can undoubtedly do the same for the K-Con. Slowly, Tailgate stands up and looks up at Ultra Magnus, visor brightening. "This is what I'm gonna do. And I'd sure appreciate it if you didn't rearrange the schedule so I couldn't see him."

There's a lengthy pause. No, Ultra Magnus hadn't yet, but Tailgate quietly suspects that maybe the enforcer had _considered_ it. He wants to avoid that as much as he can. It's still pretty clear that Ultra Magnus doesn't approve, and quite honestly Tailgate doesn't foresee him getting around to that anytime soon. 

The frown only deepens, and Tailgate's fingers curl into tiny fists. He doesn't budge.

He won't say sorry for what he has. He won't take it back. 

Tailgate is _happy_ and he needs to protect that feeling.

"This will be something we will need to follow up on," Ultra Magnus informs him, voice somehow a bit stiffer than usual. "For now, you are dismissed."

"Thank you."

Once he's escorted himself out of Ultra Magnus's office, Tailgate suddenly releases a gust of air from his vents. Honestly, he hadn't realized it, but everything had felt strained; slowly now, he feels more relaxed. No, he doesn't have Magnus' approval. He doubts he ever will. But this is something of his own and he won't back down from it.

That's satisfying.

Tailgate considers. There is some concern about how Ultra Magnus had gotten around to that conclusion on his own. Tailgate figures from what he knows of Ultra Magnus that things like this aren't exactly his specialty and all. So how did he figure it out?

Not that he's worried too much. He meant what he said to Fulcrum. Tailgate is _not_ embarrassed about this.

" _Tailgate?_ "

The disposal unit's visor flickers in surprise. He turns to his commlink. "Rewind? What's up?"

" _Have you seen Chromedome?_ "

"Not recently? I was sort of caught up in Ultra Magnus's office." That's kind of worrying. Rewind doesn't know where _Chromedome_ is?

" _Scrap. We really need to find Fulcrum._ "

Tailgate steps a little further into the hallway. "I think he should be helping out Swerve right now. What happened?"

" _Chromedome and I sort of-- we had a-- **look** , the details aren't important, but we really need to find Fulcrum. He wasn't real happy about you and him, and, well..._"

"I'm starting to get the feeling everyone knows," Tailgate mumbles.

" _You don't say._ "

"Does Chromedome know about the film night?"

There's a regretful noise. The lack of words from Rewind makes Tailgate worry. Would Chromedome really do something about it? Like, a bad thing? Nothing had happened, though! Panic rises in him.

" _You said Swerve's bar, right?_ "

Tailgate exhales heavily. "Yeah."

" _I'll meet you there. Look, I don't want to worry you, but Chromedome's been pretty protective lately and not a lot of people have a strong opinion on Fulcrum in the first place._ "

That? That Tailgate definitely knows. For all that Tailgate tries to not worry, as he runs down the hallway, he has a bad feeling in his tanks.

 

-=-=-

 

As soon as Tailgate had left his office, Ultra Magnus feels himself sink down in his chair, sighing.

There is usually a clear path for him. It's straightforward and he tries to follow accordingly to the guidelines and rules settled in for him and the others of the ship. No, not many are inclined to follow so completely. He understands that. It's always _been_ like that to some degree anyway. It's one of the reasons why he's here.

But then there's this. He still isn't sure what to make of the Decepticon they have. No, not crew. A prisoner. Yet, somehow, he'd missed it. The Decepticon's gone and gotten close, _too_ close to Tailgate. It's a ploy, Magnus wants to tell himself. Clearly it's a matter of deceit, using Tailgate for his own ends. That would be the expected action.

The reason he'd bothered to get himself involved at all is because he is worried, even if he tries to not express that too openly. He's worried about Tailgate and what will happen to him if he continues to interact with the K-Con in... _that way._

Standing, Ultra Magnus leaves his office. This is the second time Tailgate has expressed himself as a Decepticon sympathizer, only now it's almost _worse._ Before he'd simply been misguided. Now it's personalized.

Magnus can't really handle personalized.

This should be brought to Rodimus' attention.

Ultra Magnus steps out of his office, immediately opening the door to his commanding officer's.

"Rodimus," he begins to address, "we have a problem."

"Whatever it is, it has to wait," Rodimus immediately shuts him down.

Quickly, Ultra Magnus sees why. Projecting from an open transmission is a holographic image of a Decepticon in the middle of Rodimus's office. This, he silently agrees, is probably more important than whether or not Tailgate ought to be having relations with a K-Classer

" _I think we need a little chat about you kidnapping one of my crew_ ," the Decepticon states over the transmission, red optics narrowing.

 

-=-=-

 

It had been a bit foreboding at first to end up in Drift's office, if only for how he'd been approached. Finding himself back in a familiar seat, he's reminded of how he'd been in here last time: Drift talking about Earth and teaching him how to use two little sticks as utensils. It's more humorous in that memory despite what he'd learned about Cybertron and how the Decepticons were being treated there, a fact that has still been weighing on his mind. He isn't sure if he's here for more talk about those chopsticks or something else.

"So I heard about you and Tailgate," Drift mentions.

Fulcrum snorts and thinks of Swerve. "Yeah, well, who hasn't?"

There's almost a warm smile on Drift's face, which is odd since most of them his cheerful expressions tend to be _way_ over the top. "I think it's fantastic that you two are so close now."

"You _do?_ " That's not something he'd been expecting. Fulcrum figures that Skids feels pretty indifferent and just about everyone else is probably judgmental about it, or so it seems like, but Drift _approves?_ Well, that's something at least.

"I really do. I think it's a big first step for a lot of people to accept. I'm not unsympathetic to you." Drift shrugs a little. "People aren't going to trust you right away."

"Yeah, I... sorta figured that one out," Fulcrum grumbles.

"But gradually, you'll have some real friends at your side, starting with Tailgate. He's giving you the time of day. He trusts you, and you like him, don't you?"

The K-Con can't even say anything. He just nods a bit numbly.

"I know it's not easy at first." It's odd to think, and maybe Fulcrum is interpretting it too much, but Drift almost seems to be speaking from some level of experience. "And I won't lie, not everyone is going to trust you, even after a long time. But I think with what you have with Tailgate, it'll bring people around."

"Um." Fulcrum raises his optical ridges. He really didn't expect to be more or less _cheered on_ by Drift. "Thanks, I think."

Drift offers something of a half-smile. "Don't worry about it. What I might worry about is how some others are going to think about this. I don't see Rodimus putting up much of a fuss about it, but then again, Ultra Magnus might react a bit strongly."

Fulcrum winces. Yeah, he could see that. Ultra Magnus scares the _hell_ out of him.

"What... _might_ make it easier is, if you wanted, is to think about where you stand now. I'm not saying you should, but if you wanted people to accept you more and maybe get Magnus to back off a little is to consider joining the--"

"Don't you _dare_ suggest that." Fulcrum sighs and rubs his forehead. "I'm not joining the Autobots. I'm still a Decepticon, Drift. I... appreciate the thought, I think, but I'm not gonna do something like that just because it might be easier for Tailgate and me."

"I understand." Drift lifts up his hands. "And I'm not saying you should. It was just a suggestion. Maybe, then, we should do this: maybe go for an evaluation from our therapist? At least to have an official report to satisfy some people."

The head doctor? Sure, Rung is nice enough, but Fulcrum isn't thrilled with any of these ideas. What surprises him is how much Drift is _involving_ himself! What's it matter to him, anyway? Fulcrum frowns for a moment, then peers at Drift. "Why are you so invested in us, anyway?"

"Well, you see..." Drift trails off and sighs, looking very serious. Slowly, he holds up his two index fingers. "There's this very convincing theory from Japan. It's known as the Red String of Fate Theory."

Fulcrum already doesn't like where this is going.

"I think this really applies to you and Tailgate! You see, it's said that at birth--" Drift pauses, then frowns as he looks down to his commlink. "Ah. I'm sorry, Fulcrum. Rodimus is calling for me. Look, if you don't mind, I'd still like to ask Rung to at least talk to you."

It's a far more preferable idea than being forced into becoming an Autobot just to please people. If he has to go through some sort of evaluation, fine. Fulcrum gives an annoyed sigh and shrugs. "Fine. Does he mind meeting me by the bar? I need to finish up some chores that way."

"I'll send the message." Drift stands and places his hand to Fulcrum's shoulder. "I didn't mean to offend you before. I just wish this was easier on you. I really do. You're stuck in a bad situation, but you managed to find some happiness out of it anyway. I think that's impressive. I can't say many could make the best of their situation as you have."

That's warming to hear and unexpected. Drift's switch from his wide-eyed pointless theories to some actual comforting words is strange, but he's grateful nonetheless. Finally, Fulcrum gives a hesitant smile and nods once. "Thanks, Drift."

"No problem. I have to head out, so you'd better get back to the bar."

Both of them step out of the office, but Fulcrum pauses to watch Drift head down the hallway in the direction of Rodimus's office. In the opposite direction, Fulcrum starts off back towards the bar. 

It's less the idea of helping Swerve finish up with the chores than it is to confront the damned bot. It infuriates him what was caused. Doesn't anyone know how to keep their slagging mouths _shut?_ Apparently not! Really, he just hopes that Tailgate is okay. It's nice to have Drift's approval and all, but he already knows that not everyone is going to agree with him.

He manages to make his way down the hall without really bumping into anyone or getting too many looks. He keeps his head down as he shuffles along, rounding a corner, then pausing.

Oh. He isn't even at the bar yet, and Rung is right there.

"That, uh. That was fast," Fulcrum points out. "Um. Hi."

"I figured that it was easier to wait for you here. So that maybe we can talk on the way." The smile that Rung wears is patient. Not worn or forced or anything.

It's kind of strange, but Fulcrum _had_ interacted with him before, since Rung helped him paint the model he made for Tailgate. At the very least, Fulcrum has a good enough opinion of the therapist. He hadn't forced any kind of _session_. It was quiet, he put on some peaceful music, and they worked more or less in silence. It was... pleasant.

As opposed to Cyclonus, who was stern and had no problem pointing out the inaccuracies in Fulcrum's model. Yikes. Not cruel, but definitely cold. Helpful, at least.

"Sure? Okay." Fulcrum sighs, letting his shoulders sink.

Rung's impressive brows knit together in some form of concern. "I know that you've probably been under so much scrutiny being on this ship. I'm only grateful that you've had patience being here. In their own way, though, everyone is worried about Tailgate. While Decepticons alone have their reputation, so do the K-Class on their own."

"Yeah. I know," Fulcrum mutters tiredly.

"That's not to excuse anyone's actions." A gentle hand goes to Fulcrum's shoulder. "But I at least feel that it's important that you understand it."

"Understand why everyone's a jerk?" _Seriously?_

Rung shakes his head. "Is that so unusual? In order to come to any compromise, shouldn't we try to reach out and understand both sides? I think in your position, you would understand that extremely well."

That causes Fulcrum to go silent, pondering the words. His mind doesn't really want to see anything beyond _these Autobots are kind of huge jerks and a pain in the aft_ for the most part, but he gets it. It's _not_ so black and white like that. He knows it too intimately.

In the process of everything, Fulcrum guesses that it'd been easy to forget and become embittered towards everyone. He doesn't _forgive_ the behavior, but it's like Rung says.

It's worth understanding, at least. People lash out, trying to either protect themselves or those they care about. That's just a fact of life.

"Guess I do," Fulcrum admits quietly.

"You've been under a lot of pressure from a lot of Autobots that don't trust you, that may _not_ for quite sometime. I can't imagine how that feels, and you're validated to be angry and frustrated."

As they walk, Fulcrum gestures vaguely, as if he isn't sure how to properly word how he feels yet. Then, he gives a weary sound before he says, "I just want Tailgate to be happy."

"And you're very kind to want that." Rung offers a reassuring smile. "We'll talk a little more in depth when we have more privacy. If you're open to it."

"I get a choice?" Fulcrum asks wryly.

"As little or as much as you're willing to speak to me."

That sounds...

It actually sounds kind of nice. Rung _is_ very kind; Fulcrum already has that impression. 

It wouldn't be so bad to talk.

As they round a corner of the hallway in order to get to Swerve's bar, Fulcrum stops behind Rung abruptly, the pair of them blocked off. He doesn't really know one of the Autobots in their way, but it's hard to forget the other one.

"I need to talk to the Decepticon," Chromedome says with a narrowed gaze in his visor.

 

-=-=-

 

The negotations aren't going well.

Though it's probably not so much as attempting to meet a consensus as it is Krok refraining best he can from just shooting the damned ship, taking his K-Con back, and getting back on track. It's completely unwise and not tactfully sound in the least, but it's incredibly tempting. After all this time of chasing the _Lost Light_ , the fury that Krok feels in his spark hasn't died down.

That's _his_ crew the Autobots have captured. And their captain is a stubborn and obnoxious idiot. Rodimus, a name that he's not terribly familiar with, but he looks a lot like the Autobot Hot Rod. Either way...

" _I don't listen to the demands of a Decepticon._ "

 _That_ kind of behavior just irritates him.

"Then you're making an enormous mistake," Krok states gruffly. "You have no grounds to keep one of my crew. The war's over and we never even returned fire. _You_ attacked _us._ "

The other Autobot, one that Krok definitely recognizes as Ultra Magnus, steps in. " _You were stealing Autobot property_."

Behind Krok, Crankcase snorts and says, "If you wanted it so bad, the Autobots shouldn't have left it behind in the first place."

" _Thank you_ , Crankcase," Krok mutters. "At any rate, the supposed theft wasn't done maliciously. The parts were needed and no one claimed what was left over. We took the parts."

" _And the K-Con is being held accountable for his crime, as should the rest of you._ "

"It's good to know that Autobot politics have determined survival breaks their law," Krok muses coldly.

Ultra Magnus narrows his optics. " _I knew several good Autobots that served and died on that ship._ "

"And there were several decent soldiers that were killed _because_ of it. What's your point?"

" _Rodimus, what's-- oh._ " 

Joining Rodimus and Ultra Magnus is a third Autobot. One that looks suspiciously familiar. Krok isn't sure what it is. Maybe it's the helm finials, but he gets the feeling he should know who that is.

" _I take it this is Fulcrum's commanding officer?_ " the white mech asks, addressing mainly Rodimus. It gives Krok pause; at least this Autobot is actually _using_ his technician's name instead of his frametype.

"Krok," the tactician offers.

" _Drift_ ," is returned. " _Fulcrum hasn't been harmed._ "

That's the first bit of good news that Krok has heard, although it's taken with a grain of rust. There's no reason why they wouldn't just lie to him just to placate him, after all. Still, it's not like Rodimus or Ultra Magnus have offered anything short of _no, no,_ and _no we aren't returning the K-Con, so there._

Still, he tries to be civil.

"Thank you," Krok says as sincerely as he can.

Drift smiles a little.

"Krok," Crankcase calls out, almost in a _hurry._ "There's a problem."

"What now?" Krok sighs.

"There's another transmission coming in, there's a whole _fleet_ of--"

Whatever else Crankcase has to say is forgotten. Krok is busy looking over the readings. No, he's right, this is getting bad _fast._ There's an entire fleet of ships, neither Decepticon nor Autobot, approaching. While he doesn't recognize it, Krok knows immediately this can't be good.

" _The transmission is coming in on our side, too,_ " someone on the _Lost Light_ calls out. " _Rodimus?_ "

" _Go ahead, Blaster._ "

Krok looks at Crankcase, then grimly nods.

This is quickly becoming a threeway issue.

 

-=-=-

 

It happens too quickly for him to immediately know what's happening. The other Autobot -- Strafe, apparently, by how Rung somehow manages to sound polite even as he demands sternly to know what's going on -- is holding the therapist back while Fulcrum is stumbling after Chromedome, getting dragged off by both arms. Strafe doesn't answer, but Chromedome is giving Fulcrum a brief look. 

There have been several times that he's received annoyed glares or angered glances. Fulcrum's no stranger to that. But the amount of sheer fury and hatred in Chromedome's visor makes Fulcrum physically flinch back in surprise.

"I'm investigating an issue," Chromedome simply says to Rung as he pulls the K-Con down the hall, _away_ from the bar.

" _What_ issue?! Let go!" Fulcrum tries to pull, but frankly his frame is an enormous disadvantage. He's thin, he isn't armored, and he sure as hell doesn't have the strength to get away from the Autobot's tight hold on his wrists. He glances over his shoulder, giving Rung a brief panicked look with wide optics, though he knows there's not much Rung can do other than try to talk Strafe into letting him go. 

Then he sees him. Some feet behind Strafe.

" _Swerve!_ " It's a long shot, but Fulcrum is _trying._ He's still angry with the short, talkative Autobot for all the trouble, but he's desperate. Between Fulcrum and Rung, it's like they're a duo of failures in the line of anything physical.

Swerve gives him one look, then books it down the hallway, far away from the confrontation.

What the _hell?_ And Fulcrum's the _coward?_ Anger and helplessness bubbles up inside of him as he's taken away. He isn't sure where they're going, but he definitely knows that this can't be good with the way Chromedome is acting.

Gradually, he starts to realize where they're going. 

The room that they used to the movie night, where Rewind was playing his film for their humble gathering. 

The door is thrown open before Chromedome yanks him inside. Practically tripping over himself, Fulcrum's lack of grace lands him face down onto the floor. He hears the door shut closed as he pushes himself up by his hands, only to feel Chromedome shove him back down. There's a pointless kick from Fulcrum as he feels his arms wrench behind his back, his wrists thin enough to be pinned with just one hand from the Autobot.

Fulcrum gives a small growl, trying to throw off Chromedome. With his forgettable weight, though, it's not a possibility. "What the hell do you want?"

"I don't know what you want or what you're after. I don't know about everyone else, but I'm not about to put any trust in whatever you have to say."

After? After _what?_ Fulcrum tries to move his head in order to see Chromedome, but it doesn't work, not with the way he's been pinned down with his face almost to the floor. Is this about Tailgate? He isn't so sure how close Chromedome and Tailgate are, but.

But he does know that Rewind and Chromedome are _very close._

"I'm not after anything or anyone."

Chromedome leans down and although Fulcrum can't see it, he practically feels the glare pierce through him. "I'm not about to believe a Decepticon, especially K-Class."

"I didn't do anything, I didn't hurt Rewind!"

" _Yet_." Fulcrum tenses up as he hears something slide out. "I could ask you a dozen questions and never really know if you're telling the truth. But this is a sure way to know what you're up to."

"Chromedome--"

The sentence is immediately cut off after Fulcrum says his name. His optics widen as what feels like several needles slide into the back of his neck, piercing through his plating carefully. Fulcrum opens his mouth, letting out a choked sound at the uncomfortable pinching sensation. 

He realizes very quickly what's about to happen.

"Don't," is the only thing Fulcrum manages to plead out before Chromedome _does._

The memories bubble up, the surface ones. Being angry about Swerve, talking to Drift, worrying about Tailgate. It stretches from Tailgate, branches out, because it'd been the first good thing to happen to Fulcrum since he'd been forced onto this ship. There's a lot concerning him, how their friendship started, grew, and formed into whatever the scrap it is you'd describe their relationship now. Just a certain sense of closeness. But there's the nagging feeling of being watched, because Chromedome is forcing him to remember as he sorts through the thoughts, feelings, and memories, unsatisfied with whatever it is he's looking for. Validation for his paranoia that Fulcrum would harm anyone? Harm Rewind? He doesn't know.

It becomes more invasive. Fulcrum gives a pleading noise, unable to budge under Chromedome's weight. Briefly, there's the memory of being intimate with Tailgate; he remembers how it felt, how hot and warm and comfortable it was, how _happy_ Fulcrum had felt, and it seems to startle Chromedome before he continues deeper than that.

" _Stop_ ," Fulcrum grates out.

The search continues, every invasive step that Chromedome takes. The memories race by and Fulcrum feels the discomfort of the Autobot's forced presence as they're explored. When he cut himself off from Krok and the others on the _Marching Riot_ , the examination Tailgate had done, and his following imprisonment. That's observed, picked apart, and yet it doesn't seem to satisfy him.

_What is he looking for?_

The push is too much and there's a rush as he flicks through past thoughts and experiences. Leaping towards the D.J.D. in an attempt to save some decent people, meeting Misfire and the others, forced to jump from the aircraft down to Clemency as part of the K-Class unit, back further to the Traitor's Wheel and how spikes dug into his feet and hands and how the wheel would turn and slowly pull him apart--

The needles suddenly pull out from the back of Fulcrum's neck, the grip on his wrists slackened. For a moment, all Fulcrum does is vent air in and out quickly, too quickly, his mind reeling from the series of forced reminders.

"I..." Chromedome trails off, tone uncertain.

Not that it means anything.

Anger and fear bubble up inside of him and the technician wrenches his arms away, swinging his elbow back sharply and catching Chromedome in the visor, cracking the edge. The Autobot gives a surprised, pained noise, jerking back. It's enough where Fulcrum can squirm around onto his back, giving a sharp kick to Chromedome's abdomen.

"Get **_off!_** " To his shame, it sounds more screechy and panic-filled than Fulcrum cares for, but he succeeds in forcing him off. Fulcrum scrambles to his feet and manages to make it to the door.

 

-=-=-

 

"Great, another organic," Rodimus grumbles out.

"Rodimus, the proper name of the--" Ultra Magnus starts, setting out to specify the species contacting them.

Krok interrupts over the frequency, annoyed, " _I don't really care who they are. **What** do you want?_ "

There's a shrug from Rodimus, indicating that he actually agrees with the Decepticon's sentiment. That earns a scowl from Ultra Magnus.

There's a hologram of the alien contacting them; it's tall, and the coloration is hard to determine over the frequency. The back of the creature's head slopes back into an epoccipital of sorts. Three beady eyes blink away, not in synch with each other as they gaze at the Cybertronians. There are at least two other factors that cause the alien to stand out besides its apparent height: the drooling mandibles on its face and the enormous shoulder blades on its back.

" _Cybertronians_ ," the alien greets flatly. " _We are not here to negotiate or warn. We are here to announce._ "

"To Autobot or Decepticon?" Ultra Magnus asks.

" _It does not matter. The Umbran fleet will greet both your ships shortly._ "

The transmission from the organic cuts out. It earns even a wary look from Krok.

Abruptly, the entirety of the _Lost Light_ shakes from a very apparent explosion outside of the ship. Rodimus shoots a furious look at the flickering hologram of the Decepticon. "Did you just attack us?!"

" _No!_ ," Krok snaps, then looks aside, as if addressing one of his own personal crewmembers. " _There's an entire fleet of them. Like the organic said._ "

"Frag this," Rodimus grumbles. "Blaster, tell everyone to get ready for a fight. I don't care if you need to get Siren on the intercom!"

"Are you sure that's wise?" Ultra Magnus glances at the hologram. "What about the Decepticons?"

"Right now, we just got _shot_ by a bunch of fleshlings. I'm not putting up with that," Rodimus snaps. "If you shoot us, you're going down too, 'Con."

" _Likewise_ ," Krok promises in a narrowed gaze before cutting out his own transmission.

 

-=-=-

 

"So what exactly happened?" Tailgate asks as they hurry down the hallway. "I don't mean to pry, but if it has to do with Fulcrum..."

"It does and it doesn't." Rewind lowers his helm slightly. "We fought about it. He already knew about the film I shared. He didn't like that to begin with, but _apparently_ it had to do with when I helped Fulcrum out with the model. After hearing that shortly after the news about you and Fulcrum came around, we argued and he stormed out. As soon as he did that, I knew something was going to happen. I just don't know _what._ "

They don't go much further. Around the corner, Swerve suddenly peeks out from behind it, waving for them. "Tailgate! Rewind!"

Oh, that seems lucky. Fulcrum's scheduled to be helping Swerve, so naturally he ought to know where he is. Quickly, Tailgate hurries over, his visor brightening hopefully.

"Crum needs your help." Swerve glances nervously down the hall. "And Rung."

"What does Rung--" Rewind starts.

But Tailgate doesn't wait, he doesn't feel like he can. Though he is rarely one for confrontations, he can't help but feel impulse run through him as he sprints down the hallway. Not far off, he sees Strafe holding Rung by the shoulders. As Tailgate approaches, their optics meet, and there's no hesitation at all in the disposal unit; he just _looks_ at Strafe as he runs forward, not stopping, not turning away. Frankly, with anger and worry running through him, Tailgate feels like he'd probably bulldoze right over Strafe is he keeps standing in his way.

Nervously, Strafe looks from Rung to Tailgate, then releases the therapist suddenly, taking a step back.

Tailgate stops in front of both of them, peering up at Strafe. "Where is he?"

It's silent for a moment, Strafe's mouth opening and closing.

Nothing _needs_ to be said. Tailgate can hear the shout down the hallway, and it's Fulcrum's voice: "Get **_off!_** "

"Fulcrum!" Visor flashing in panic, Tailgate runs by the others, heading further down the hallway.

Bursting out from one of the rooms, Fulcrum stumbles into the hall, his yellow optics wide and fearful. He looks up slowly, seeing Tailgate, frozen in his stance. As soon as the disposal unit gets close enough, Tailgate finds his arms full of the Decepticon clutching him.

Tailgate hugs him tightly. "Fulcrum?"

Not a word is spoken. The K-Con just shakes his head silently, venting in and out far too quickly than normal.

"Easy." Tailgate pats his back gently. "I got you."

Over Fulcrum's shoulder, Tailgate can see Chromedome standing in the doorway. The upper right of his visor is cracked and his expression is strange, full of confusion and remorse. Yet, the only thing Tailgate can feel is betrayal and utter _anger._ Gently as he can, Tailgate untangles himself from Fulcrum and goes to stand between the Decepticon and the mnemosurgeon.

"What'd you do?" Tailgate demands.

Chromedome tilts his head up, glancing over Tailgate and Fulcrum. A reluctant gaze is given down the hallway, towards Rewind. 

He doesn't say anything.

Before Tailgate can even think of trying to confront him further, there's an abrupt rumble throughout the entire ship. It's enough to cause a shake under his feet, knocking him over with a surprised yelp. Fulcrum somehow manages to keep his balance, immediately grabbing for Tailgate's arm to help him back up.

"Uh," Tailgate can hear Swerve. "What was _that?_ "

There's a collective of puzzled glances for the most part, though it looks like Fulcrum and Chromedome are both keen to not look at _anyone_. Yet, Tailgate can feel Fulcrum clutch his hand like a lifeline, a small tremble running up the limb.

All he can wonder is _what did Chromedome do?_

" ** _Autobots! Ready battle stations! We're being attacked!_** " comes Siren's powerful voice over the intercom. 

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me," Fulcrum mutters, his voice just barely above a whisper.

Another tremor passes through the ship, nearly throwing Tailgate off of his feet again, but he manages to stay grounded this time. The explosion sounds _close_ , too close.

"That couldn't have been far off," Rewind comments, voice soft.

Fulcrum shakes his head for a moment, exhaling sharply. He grits his teeth, then releases Tailgate's hand finally as he turns and heads for the nearest terminal. "I'll try to make sense of the damages. If you guys have something you need to do, then you'd better go do it."

"I could--" Chromedome starts, as if offering assistance of some kind.

"Stay away from me," Fulcrum cuts him off, voice acidic as he gives a foul look to the much taller mech. The tone's viciousness dies as he repeats in a much quieter voice, his stance looking weaker: "...Just stay away from me."

When Chromedome lifts a hand, Tailgate immediately steps up to Fulcrum's side, giving the surgeon a look before turning his attention to the Decepticon. Silently, Chromedome takes a step back. "How does it look?" Tailgate asks.

"Bad." Fulcrum frowns a little as he types away at the terminal. "The lower levels of the ship were hit hard. It looks like... the brig. There's a gaping hole there. I guarantee you that there are gonna be more like that if this keeps up."

"Hey, well, you dodged a bullet. Hooray?" Swerve offers.

There's a pause as Fulcrum looks at Swerve, as if he can't make up his mind on how to properly address him. Then he shakes his head. "The rest of the Decepticons from the previous battle you guys had with them are still down there. _And_ Fortress Maximus." The K-Con turns away from the terminal. "If the damages keep up like this, the brig is going to come ripping right off of the rest of the ship. It has two places it can go: the planet below us, or out drifting into space. Not good odds either way."

"I'll start calling Ultra Magnus. He has the codes for the brig," Rung offers.

"That's great, but I'm not going to wait for him." Fulcrum turns away. "I need to get _at least_ Fortress Maximus out from there."

Tailgate reaches up, taking Fulcrum's hand. It's about the only thing he feels like he can do in order to show how protective he feels. "I'm going with you."

"Tailgate..." Fulcrum glances down, then nods. "I. I could use the help."

"I don't know that Fort Max will listen to you right away, even in a disaster like this. I'll do what I can to help," Rung informs the both of them. "I'll still try to get Ultra Magnus to help."

"We'd better hurry, anyway," Fulcrum informs them. "But I appreciate it, Rung."

"I'll try to send help your way," Rewind announces. "Get going."

 

-=-=-

 

Chromedome watches the three of them leave. Rung, Tailgate, and Fulcrum. 

His mind is still reeling.

" _Chromedome_ ," Rewind addresses him, trying to get his attention.

What can he say? Numbly, Chromedome looks down at his own hand.

 

-=-=-

 

There's little else that comforts him right now more than holding onto Tailgate's hand. Maybe it's shock, maybe it's because the situation doesn't allow for him to even address what happened as of yet, but he feels almost disconnected from everything as they go. He's just glad to have the smaller mech with him, and he holds on tightly. 

He can't even think about what Chromedome did. He can't deal with that right now.

Fulcrum glances towards the therapist. "So, are you okay?"

"Strafe didn't harm me," Rung replies. "Are you?"

Fulcrum looks back down the hall as they try to hurry towards the brig.

"I'm sorry. Now's probably a bad time to ask that."

"I'll be okay," Fulcrum mumbles, mostly to try to reassure himself.

"Fulcrum, what did he do?" Tailgate looks up.

"I." The K-Con shakes his head quickly. "I can't. Not right now. I'll be _okay_. We need to focus right now."

There's a small huff from Tailgate, but there's no argument. "Later?"

"Later," Fulcrum promises.

As they reach the entrance of the brig, Fulcrum does not hesitate. He doesn't particularly care about the other Decepticons; he doesn't _know them_ and he doesn't owe anything to them. Still, it'd probably be the right thing to try to help. His main intent is to assist Fortress Maximus.

No, they don't really get along, but there's a level of _something_ there between them that he hasn't quite grasped yet. It's important to him, even if he doesn't really _get_ Maximus yet.

Once they reach the actual brig, Fulcrum stumbles to a stop, flinging out his arm to catch Rung from going further. Tailgate squeezes his hand and stares at the big hole in the ship.

"Wow," Tailgate murmurs. "That ... used to be your cell."

"Sure was," Fulcrum agrees, voice squeaking. Nice to know his trend of barely avoiding death is continuing so steadily. Where his cell used to be is the biggest tear in the brig, with the rest of it extending out. Really, the brig is barely clutching onto the rest of the _Lost Light_ from the damages. It also means that in order to do anything useful, Fulcrum has to jump over a chasm to _get_ to the cell in question.

Pit, this is going to suck.

The other cells are either destroyed or have ripped off already. Chances are, Fulcrum supposes, that they're offlined. No use wasting time on the dead, he tells himself distantly; he's left to focus on Fortress Maximus.

"Fortress Maximus," Rung calls out. "We're going to try to get you out. Please let Fulcrum help."

"You brought the _Decepticon_ to help," Maximus reponds, not at all hiding the anger there.

"Look, I don't know when or if Ultra Magnus is going to make it down here!" Fulcrum snaps impatiently. "I'm going to try to find a way to help you get out of the cell, but I don't have time right now to try to win your trust or anything. Just deal with it, all right?!"

There's a brief pause, then the warden snorts. Not really a word of agreement, but it's something.

Fulcrum gives himself a moment, then gives a vent of air. "Tailgate, you don't have to come with me to--"

"Yes I do." Tailgate gently tugs on his hand. "I'm not leaving you behind, okay?"

"Um." It shouldn't surprise him, but relief washes over the Decepticon. That's something, he thinks, that he needed to hear. "Thanks. All right, let's get ready to jump."

Both of them take a few steps back before they look at each again. Then, they both run, leaping over the chasm in the brig, landing on the other side. The floor under them wobbles from the impact and additional weight. Fulcrum's optics widen and he tugs Tailgate close.

"I'm okay," Tailgate assures him. "Really."

"All right." Fulcrum reluctantly releases his hand, looking up towards Fortress Maximus. In return, two piercing optics peer down at him.

"So what're you going to do?" Tailgate asks. "You don't know the codes."

Fulcrum shakes his head. "I don't, but I think I can rework the wiring enough that I can force the cell open."

"You can _do_ that?" Tailgate's visor widens.

"Probably? I haven't tried, but I think it's possible. Just keep an eye on the cell here for me while I work. Maybe keep checking on updates of the ship?"

There's a nod from Tailgate. "I can do that."

"Good. I'll, um. I'll get to work." Slowly, Fulcrum kneels down, looking at the plating of the ship along the bottom of the cell, then at the side. It takes some prying, but he's able to peel off the metal, exposing the wiring.

It doesn't look that much more complicated than any cell he's seen. He can work with this.

Fulcrum reaches in, venting steadily, trying to ignore everything else. Trying to ignore that there's a battle outside the ship, what Chromedome did, and the fact that this piece of the ship he's on right now is ready to tear off from the rest of the _Lost Light_ at any second. Death is just outside and he's trying hard to ignore it because he wants to live.

Not just for himself, but he knows. 

He thinks of Tailgate.

There's a hiss as wiring shocks him slightly, but he works through it as he rearranges the settings. With a twist of cables, the cell door opens.

There are heavy steps from Fortress Maximus as he steps out, wrists bound up in cuffs. He stares down at Fulcrum.

"Fort Max!" Rung calls out to the warden. "Now!"

The command from the therapist is enough to draw out Fortress Maximus's attention. His head turns, then he just growls out, "...Yeah." The enormous Autobot takes a step back before he leaps over the gaping hole in the ship, landing not far from Rung.

"Fulcrum! It's coming apart!" Tailgate warns frantically. "It--"

Not another word is spoken as what's left of the brig starts to tear off more. There's a startled yelp from the disposal unit and a distressed squeak from Fulcrum as they both tumble. Not all of it has completely come off, but as they roll, Fulcrum's fingers are trying to find something to hold onto, but as he hits the edge, he knows he's going to fall and _oh Primus spare his spark_ he's going to die.

Tailgate's hand snatches his wrist, the smaller mech managing to barely hold onto the remains of the cell. The struggle with Fulcrum's weight is obviously there, as the disposal unit was never constructed for this, Fulcrum expects. There's a tremble in Tailgate's body as he tries to pull the K-Con up. 

"Tailgate! Fulcrum!" Rung shouts to both of them frantically, the large warden cursing nearby as he struggles with his bonds.

The therapist is frail, and Fortress Maximus's hands are still cuffed. There's not much that they can do. And there's no way that Tailgate can pull Fulcrum up. 

At this rate, they'll both go.

Fulcrum feels his throat constrict and his tanks churn. He doesn't want this decision, but he won't make Tailgate go with him.

"You have to let go," Fulcrum tells him.

"What?" Tailgate stares down, baffled. "No!"

"Tailgate--"

" _No!_ I've got you!"

There's a desperate feeling spreading through Fulcrum. They won't make it. They can't possibly make it!

Shockingly, a jet suddenly flies through the gap in the ship. There's a jerk of Fulcrum's head, because he _recognizes_ it, watching the transformation as the Cybertronian lands in front of them.

"Hang on, pinhead!" Reaching down, Misfire grabs onto both of them by the wrists.

"Misfire," Fulcrum sputters out. "When did--?"

"Oh, you know." There's a small grunt as Misfire tries to pull them up. "Krok was havin' a talk with the Autobots' captain and then this whole mess started and Crankcase spotted you through the hole here and Krok said to go get you and wow can I talk about this later I'm trying to save you and this little guy!"

He's still baffled to see the jet, but hell if he doesn't have _great_ timing. Fulcrum shudders with some relief, but at the same time, he realizes that by himself Misfire can't carry two.

Fulcrum bites his lower lip, hearing metal creak.

There's additional weight suddenly on the cell's floor with a loud and heavy clang, implying a large mech has hopped over. Was it Fortress Maximus? He looks up, optics widening as he watches Ultra Magnus pick him up with no effort, leaving Misfire to yank Tailgate back up onto the floor.

He isn't sure what to say. "Thanks?" Fulcrum vents out. "Thank you."

Ultra Magnus says nothing.

The rescue is only brief. There's a louder creak. Ultra Magnus scowls and whirls around to face the three mechs. Without a single word, the enforcer is shoving all three of them -- Misfire, Fulcrum, and Tailgate -- against the wall of the cell. "Brace yourselves!" the _Lost Light_ 's second-in-command orders.

Finally, the piece of the ship tears off, with all four of them still on it.

And they plunge towards the planet below.


	6. Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fulcrum ends up on the Lost Light. Tailgate ends up vouching for him. Nobody is happy about it except probably them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TITLE: Bombs Away  
> CHAPTER: Six | Crossroads  
> FANDOM: Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW  
> RATING: PG-13, just to play it safe.  
> SUMMARY: Fulcrum returns to the Weak Anthropic Principle.  
> NOTES: Chapter beta'd and edited by Obfuscobble. Thank you immensely for all your help.

The _Weak Anthropic Principle_ is smaller than the _Lost Light_. It's not a ship really meant for an enormous crew, and to be honest it's more of a vessel that looks like it's been melded together from several other ships over the course of time, forever borrowed from whatever's been forgotten in space. It does what it can, often glitching and breaking down, but after months and months of travelling with the damned piece of scrap, there's some attachment to it. It's well travelled.

Due to its smaller size, it's not immediately targeted by the furious organic aliens. That much Krok is grateful for.

"They're gonna shoot us eventually," Crankcase growls in warning. "What do you want to do?"

For a moment, Krok says nothing, optics squinting at the visuals displaying on the monitors, fizzling with static and inconsistent in coloring due to the mixmatch of technology that's been welded together. It's enough, though.

Just enough.

There's a blast through the _Lost Light_ , causing a chunk of its lower region to begin to fall to the planet below. It leaves part of the interior of the ship on display. Krok reaches over Crankcase's shoulder, zooming in the display. It's blurry, but it's enough to get an idea of what part of the inside looks like from the shot off portion.

It's a brig, with one prisoner left inside. Definitely too big to be Fulcrum, but the location is no doubt where they'd keep the K-Con. So where...?

To his surprise, he recognizes a K-Class frame from the gap in the ship, trying to make his way towards the prisoner.

"Before you even _say_ anything, there's no way in the Pit we'd make it to the Autobots to get him before _we're_ shot, too," Crankcase points out. "We're not fast enough, not even remotely."

Krok curls his hands into fists, tightening enough to make his knuckles creak. No. There's _no way_ he's leaving behind one of his own. Fulcrum is part of his crew. He came here to get him back, and he's going to fulfil that.

"Misfire," Krok calls up through his comm.

No one gets left behind.

So he watches and waits, biding his time as Misfire shoots off through space to get to the _Lost Light_ , to try to get to Fulcrum. The relief in Krok's frame is brief when Misfire makes his landing, definitely a far more elegant flier than he is a shot; it's gone when he watches the last remaining chunk of the brig break away from the rest of the ship and head towards the planet below. As it enters the atmosphere, it begins to burn up, looking like a twisted shooting star.

Krok already knows his choice.

"Go!" he snaps at his pilot.

He doesn't even care as the _Weak Anthropic Principle_ starts to get fired upon by the organic ships. 

He's coming to get what he came for.

 

-=-=-

 

The last time Fulcrum can remember rebooting like this is when there were five scrappy Decepticons standing over him with one of them holding his fuel pump. Everything hurts; his helm, his body, and it's hard to vent, like there's a lot of pressure on top of him. And something... wet?

_Uh._

Urgently, Fulcrum's optics come back online and he looks around wildly. For the most part, it's nothing but scrap pieces of metal everywhere around him, parts of the _Lost Light_ and the brig scattered across the bright yellow sand and dirt. Scorch marks scar the earth, across where they landed so violently. 

Tailgate. Where's Tailgate and Misfire and--?

Fulcrum looks up, seeing that he's pinned down by a large and very unconscious Ultra Magnus, leaking out energon and his plating torn up and _oh Primus_ he looks torn up. 

But last he recalls, it'd been Magnus who pinned all of them against the wall of the brig in order to protect them. Which still mystifies him a bit, someone as big and frightening as hell as Ultra Magnus saving _him?_

Either way, he's stuck, with no else around. With Magnus's fuel all over him.

Fulcrum tries to squirm, to try to push the much larger Cybertronian off or to get away from his weight, but he's pinned. Even if he was forged for battle, Fulcrum's still too small to even dream of bearing any of Ultra Magnus's bulk on his own.

He grumbles, then lifts his impressive chin before he shouts: "Tailgate? **Misfire!** Hey!"

Nothing. At least, it seems like it. Maybe they aren't awake yet? Fulcrum wriggles uselessly under Ultra Magnus, trying to have a better look at the surrounding area. Slowly, he looks up, watching the flashing in the dark sky above. Undoubtedly the fighting between the _Lost Light_ and... whatever it is that's attacking them. All he can really do it just stare up and watch it all happen from a distance.

Alarmingly, he watches some _other_ spacecraft tear through the atmosphere. A bit far off, but someone is landing nearby or--

As the craft passes by, he catches the familiar look. The _Weak Anthropic Principle_! Krok and the others made it! But it doesn't slow down and instead passes by, going out from eyesight. For a moment, there's silence and then Fulcrum eventually feels a rumble underneath his body. Based on that and the loud noise, he expects that the ship had started to come down has ended up crashing. The rising smoke over the horizon seems to be an equal indication.

Scrap.

Somewhere to Fulcrum's left, he hears a snort and a static-filled mumble, "No no no, Krok -- just a few more minutes."

"Misfire!" Fulcrum snaps.

"Fulcrum?" Somehow, over the mass of Ultra Magnus, the K-Con is able to see the jet perk up. "Oh! Riiiiight. I was trying to get you off the ship. Then we fell or something?"

"Sure, close enough." Despite the unfortunate situation and everything, it's honestly fantastic to hear Misfire's voice again and be around his friend. He just kind of wishes it wouldn't be in the capacity of being pinned under an unconscious Magnus that's still leaking fuel all over him.

That, and one other major concern.

"Do you see a short white and blue mech laying around? Blue visor, is really, um, curvy?" Fulcrum ducks his head a little, not able to think of a better way to describe Tailgate.

"Oh, the little guy that was with you?" Misfire shrugs. "I'll go have a look. I expect you're not moving any time soon, eh?"

"Gee, I have no idea what would give you that idea."

There's a brief, broad smile on Misfire's face before the jet runs off out of sight for a moment. Not far from what Fulcrum can tell in his position, but still impossible to really specifically determine where he'd gone off to. Fortunately, Misfire's close enough where his murmuring to himself can be heard still, the jet still consistently incapable of remaining silent for long. 

Eventually, Misfire perks back up again, lifting an unconscious white mech in his hands. "This the guy? Pretty sure that it is!"

"Tailgate!" Fulcrum's optics widen. "He's-- is he alive? Misfire, be more careful with him!"

"Quit your fussing. He's functional, just out for a spell is all." Misfire sniffs and approaches the K-Con. "Well. You're pretty trapped under the big guy, aren't you?"

"Great statement of the obvious." Sighing, Fulcrum glances from Misfire to Tailgate, silently worrying over the smaller mech. "Any chance you're strong enough to pick him up long enough for me to get out?"

The talkative jet scoffs, setting Tailgate down in a sitting position not far from Fulcrum. "As _hee_ -larious as that would be? Uh, no. No chance at all. Not on my own."

"Damn it." Fulcrum winces, trying to pull an arm out from under Ultra Magnus. "I saw the _Weak Anthropic Principle_ crash some ways off from here. If we have any luck at all left, Krok and the others will find us eventually. But I don't know if Magnus is going to last that long. He's, uh. Kinda leaking all over me."

"Just so I'm not, you know, crazy? If I'm understanding you right, you want to save an Autobot's life." There's a curious tilt of Misfire's head.

"Yes? Yes I do. C'mon, we helped Grimlock."

There's a helpless shrug from Misfire. "That was _completely_ different in every way imaginable! Grimsie didn't kidnap you, for starters."

"No, but." There's a tired sigh from Fulcrum. "Look, there's a lot that's happened and I don't feel particularly hateful towards him, okay? He's _scary_ , but he's not bad. Besides, he protected us when we were falling to the planet, remember?"

"I do have a vague memory of a pair of strong, _very_ manly, and powerful arms holding us down." Misfire rubs his chin. "Well, what do you want me to do?"

There's a pause of consideration, then Fulcrum gestures his head awkwardly towards the unconscious bomb disposal unit. "Bring him a little closer?"

Despite the passing confused look that Misfire gives him, the jet obeys, dragging Tailgate closer. Near enough, at least for Fulcrum to awkwardly put his head in Tailgate's lap. He pauses, thinking, trying to come up with a way to force the smaller mech to wake up. 

"Tailgate?" Fulcrum tries.

Nothing. And shouting's probably not going to do very much.

After some deep consideration and knowing that his next course of action is going to have some repercussions in the way of mockery later from Misfire, ultimately Fulcrum knows he needs to make Tailgate wake up _somehow_ so he can get out from under Ultra Magnus. With a sigh and a shake of his head, Fulcrum turns his head so his face is pressing against Tailgate's abdomen. Cycling in some air through his vents, Fulcrum blows _hard_ into the disposal unit's belly. 

It takes a moment, but Tailgate finally wakes up in a squealing gigglefit.

At the laughter, the K-Con turns his head away, looking up at the other mech from his lap, offering a small, awkward smile. "Uh, hey."

"Fulcrum?" Tailgate's visor flashes in surprise. He quickly glances around the surrounding area. Misfire, with a big, dumb, and amused smile on his face, wiggles his fingers in a wave to the disposal unit. "Where's the _Lost Light_?"

"Still orbiting the planet, I think. But right now, I'm sorta pinned under Ultra Magnus and he's leaking energon everywhere. Can you help Misfire prop him up enough so I can get out?"

Gently, Tailgate moves Fulcrum's head from his lap as he gradually gets to his feet. He looks up at Misfire curiously. "I was kinda hoping to meet you and Fulcrum's other friends under better circumstances," he admits as he moves to one of Ultra Magnus's shoulders. "I'm Tailgate."

"Misfire," the jet introduces himself, no less cheerful than usual as he circles to the other side. "And trust me, it could be plenty worse timing! When the others get here, you'll get a nice big round of introductions. _That_ is a promise."

"Oh good," Fulcrum grumbles.

"Can you _please_ focus on getting Magnus off of me?"

"Ease up, loser; we're working on it."

It takes a few tries, but eventually both Tailgate and Misfire are able to lift Ultra Magnus up _just_ enough so that Fulcrum can squirm his way out from under the massive Autobot. As Fulcrum finds his feet, he finds himself being quickly held onto by Tailgate. He can't say anything for a moment. The last hour or so sinks in for Fulcrum. It's been a series of troubling events and narrowly avoiding death, though Fulcrum supposes that's just kind of the story of his life: somehow barely avoiding dying and dragging his feet through trauma. Remembering what Chromedome did hangs in the back of his mind, but it's not something that Fulcrum can even deal with right now. Not with everything as it is.

Ultimately, he's glad to have Tailgate nearby. Soon, maybe, he'll be back with Krok and the others, too.

Misfire gives the both of them a curious look, tilting his head.

"We should, uh." Fulcrum rubs the back of his head. "We should get back on track. Misfire, can you try to track down the W.A.P.? I'm gonna try to keep Ultra Magnus from losing more fuel."

" _Riiight_ , I'll just let you have some time with the little guy. Got'cha." 

"That's not--" There's a sputter from Fulcrum, and he narrows his yellow optics as the jet transforms and takes off into the air. " _Misfire!!_ "

After a brief moment of silence, Fulcrum gives a heavy sigh before he kneels down by Ultra Magnus, trying to sort out where the sources of the major leaks are. Slowly, Tailgate crouches at his side, touching the Decepticon's wrist.

"It doesn't look too bad," Fulcrum offers in assurance. "From what I understand, Utlra Magnus is incredibly tough. If Misfire can get Spinister over here, then he'll be okay."

"I know he'll make it," Tailgate responds softly. "But thanks. I'm actually pretty worried about you."

"What for? I'm not hurt."

Tailgate's visor dims faintly. "I know you probably don't wanna talk about it, but you don't have to pretend you're okay to me, either. Whatever it was that Chromedome did..."

That. Right. Before he can stop himself, a tremor runs through Fulcrum's frame, causing a hiss to escape his mouth. As he lets his hands fall into his own lap, Tailgate quickly slides his fingers into a palm.

"You don't have to tell me, but I want you to know you can be honest with me. Chromedome's a friend, but if he hurt you--"

"It. It was bad," Fulcrum starts awkwardly. "I don't know where to begin with it. Give me a little time to sort out my thoughts? I know I can count on you. I'm _not_ worried about that."

Gently, Tailgate squeezes his hand. "If you need time, that's okay. I'm here."

"I know." Hesitantly, the K-Con smiles down at his companion. "It goes both ways, if you need it."

Fulcrum holds still as Tailgate is getting onto his knees. Hands go to the K-Classer's shoulders in order to allow the disposal unit to balance himself, leaning in to rub his cheek against Fulcrum's. There's a soft sigh of appreciation at the affection and Fulcrum leans in to bump his forehead lightly against Tailgate's. It's not much, but it helps calm him despite the situation.

Simple, but assuring.

"I could, uh. I could use your help in trying to put Ultra Magnus back together." Fulcrum smiles sheepishly. "He seems stable enough, but I'm not a doctor."

"I hear you. Just, uh. Tell me what to do."

 

-=-=-

 

Patching up Ultra Magnus isn't exactly clean or easy. Field patches aren't really in Tailgate's background and he finds, quickly, that he doesn't have much the tanks for energon being bled out onto his hands. Yet, Fulcrum hardly seems as squeamish as him. There's a flinch here and there, but the Decepticon has a better handle on it than Tailgate does.

He tries, but Tailgate feels fairly useless. Yet Fulcrum offers him a meek smile, gently nudging him and asking for help in putting pressure to a major set of tubing. 

It's not as elegant as any of the medics that Tailgate's had witness to, but Fulcrum does well enough to keep Ultra Magnus together. It's not pretty, but Magnus will live.

Once they're done, Tailgate carefully slides his hand into Fulcrum's. He finds himself tugged to sit closer to the K-Con, not that Tailgate really has any objections to it. There really aren't any words, not that there needs to be.

Slowly, Tailgate looks up at the sky. It's hard to tell how the fight is going from here, if the _Lost Light_ is winning or losing. He wonders how the crew is managing, if they're hurt, or if they're okay. The only thing he can think of is that many of them are skilled and strong.

They have to be okay.

"Worried?" Fulcrum asks.

Tailgate lowers his helm. "It's hard not to be."

"I know. I mean, I wasn't close to everyone and--"

"A lot of the others weren't great to you," Tailgate admits. "I know that, Fulcrum."

There's a helpless smile from the K-Con. "That might be so, but there were a lot that came around, too. Rewind, Rung, and some others. And I guess Cyclonus doesn't hate me. Anyway, it's not like I'm sitting here wishing the worst will happen to your crew. I hope they're okay, too."

Tailgate leans his head against Fulcrum's shoulder. "I hope your friends are all right."

"They're tougher than I am. I'm sure they're okay."

There's a soft, amused hum. "You're pretty tough yourself. At least, I think so."

Fulcrum snorts quietly. "If you ever see me in a fight -- which I hope you won't -- you'll, uh. Notice pretty quickly how _tough_ I am. Which I know I'm definitely not. But thank you, Tailgate."

With a small sigh, the disposal unit scoots as closely as he can to Fulcrum, snuggling in close. It's nice to have a moment of silence, even if there's a lot to worry about. One step at a time; that's all he can really focus on.

Just as he starts to shut off his visor and get comfortable waiting for Misfire to return, he feels a rumble through the ground. Like something large is stomping its way towards them. With a startled squeak, Tailgate turns his visor back up and sits upright, looking around in alert.

"Oh boy," Fulcrum mumbles, his yellow optics widening.

Over the hill, Tailgate sees it approaching. Some large creature with a tail and two short arms charging them!

As gently as possible, Fulcrum pushes Taigate aside. "But--!" the smaller mech starts, alarmed and worried.

"No no, it's fine! Trust me on this! ACK!" Abruptly, the enormous monster rams into Fulcrum, pinning him down onto the ground. Tailgate's spark skips a few pulses as he gets up, scrambling towards Fulcrum and wondering how in Primus's name he's going to save the Decepticon from this!

But he doesn't hear Fulcrum screaming in fear or pain or anything. He's... he's _laughing?_

"Stop! _Haha_ stop it!" The K-Con's lanky legs are kicking out under the giant beast, flailing, but not in any attempt to get violent. As Tailgate warily circles around, he sees the monster's head, nipping and nuzzling Fulcrum's stomach eagerly, growling in some affectionate way. " _Grimlock seriously_ stop it! I'm glad to see you too!"

"So that's... not a monster?" Is it a pet, like Bob is to Sunstreaker? Tailgate crouches down curiously as he watches the giant thing named Grimlock rub his muzzle roughly against the Decepticon. "What's a Grimlock?" 

The reptilian beast stops long enough to pull his head back and peer down at Tailgate with two glowing red optics, as if he heard his name. "Me Grimlock," he states, proudly.

"He's a Dynobot. And, uh, he's also an Autobot." Fulcrum smiles sheepishly. "We found him sometime ago in a Decepticon cruiser. Far as I know, he's supposed to be way smarter than this, but something happened. I guess he's technically supposed to be a bargaining chip, but, uh. Don't tell anyone I said this, but that's not really how things turned out."

"You never mentioned you had an Autobot in your crew," Tailgate points out, trying to not sound too hurt in his voice.

"Off," Fulcrum grunts at Grimlock. "I know. And I'm sorry. I was afraid that if I did, then Ultra Magnus would _really_ rip me a new one. Extend my sentence or something. But I swear, we've been looking after him."

There's a pause as Tailgate considers this new information. On one hand, he really wishes that Fulcrum had been more sincere with him about the Dynobot, but he can understand why it was never spoken. Maybe just never a good opportunity? That, and he has a good point: if anyone else ever got word of it, Fulcrum undoubtedly would have been in _more_ trouble. Apparently forming a relationship with the K-Con had been enough for Ultra Magnus to get involved.

Besides, it's not like Tailgate has any room to be angry with him, even if he wishes he'd known sooner.

"I understand," Tailgate assures. "I've never heard of the Dynobots, though."

"They were a war-thing." Fulcrum gets back onto his feet, brushing sand off of himself. "Here, it'll help if he learns your name. Grimlock?"

"Me Grimlock," the Dynobot confirms, wagging his enormous tail.

"You Grimlock, him Tailgate."

The small red optics squint in concentration as the giant Dynobot peers down at Tailgate. Part of him feels like he should be afraid of Grimlock, but if Fulcrum isn't scared, then Tailgate supposes he shouldn't have to be frightened.

"Him... Tailgate?"

Fulcrum grins and pats his muzzle. "You got it. Him Tailgate."

"Him Tailgate," Grimlock states with more confidence, leaning down to shove his snout against the disposal unit's chest.

"You know, he's kind of cute," Tailgate muses, giving a light pat to Grimlock's nose.

The next series of events seem to just happen too quickly for Tailgate to pace correctly. While petting the Dynobot on the snout, he witnesses several other Cybertronians suddenly barreling on in. First, a very tall, mostly purple Decepticon with a rotor on his back slams into Fulcrum, gathering him up into a tight embrace, effectively lifting the K-Con off the ground.

" _Eek_ ," is squeezed out of Fulcrum. "H-hey, Spin!"

"Krok and I tried to keep Grimlock on the ship, but after Misfire said your name, he just kinda bolted. Did the Autobots hurt you real bad?" Spinister holds him up, peering at him.

"Uh, no no. No, I'm fine. You can put me down, really!"

"Well." Spinister sets Fulcrum back down on his feet. "I'm gonna have to give you a look over when we're back on the ship anyway."

"Thanks, but there's a lot--" Fulcrum begins, but before he can get any further, _another_ Decepticon marching up. _Yikes_ , this one has part of his helm exposing his brain module. Abruptly, he's punching the K-Classer in the shoulder. " _Ow!_ "

With a snort, the grumpy Decepticon states, "That's for making me chase you across the fragging galaxy. And _this_ \--" Another punch is given to the opposite shoulder. "--is for getting the W.A.P. crashed. It's going to be a pain to fix the scrap pile."

"Glad to see you too, Crankcase," Fulcrum mumbles. "Sorry about the ship."

"It's okay, Crankcase was worried too," the rotary Decepticon assures.

" _Shut up_ , Spinister," Crankcase grates out.

"Um," Tailgate stammers, trying to get a word in, but it seems absolutely impossible as the Decepticons make their way to Fulcrum. He's stuck just observing for the moment, it seems like. 

"See? See, Krok, I got to Fulcrum! Just a slight hiccup, you know how those go and like I said there's Ultra Magnus and Fulcrum's little buddy Tailgate and I think I did all right..."

That's definitely Misfire, that much Tailgate is able to tell as he sees the chatty jet follow behind a shorter Decepticon, who Tailgate assumes is Krok.

"Spinister, Crankcase. Move aside," is ordered, which is followed easily. Both of them step aside obediently, making room.

Krok grabs Fulcrum by the shoulders, peering over him. It's silent for a moment as the commanding officer looks over the K-Con with a narrowed gaze. Abruptly, Krok turns him, looking over his back, as if he's inspecting for something. There's a pause at the base of Fulcrum's neck, which earns a thoughtful grunt. Turning the K-Classer back to facing him, Krok's expression softens.

"How do you feel?" is asked of the K-Con.

"Pretty okay, I guess. Uh. It's good to see you too, sir." Fulcrum rubs the back of his head. "I'm sorry for the trouble."

Krok sighs, sounding more tired than angry. "That's twice you've tried to sacrifice yourself for this group. Don't make a habit of it."

"Yes sir."

What seemed like an angry inspection is just a commanding officer fretting over one of his crew members. That's... sort of interesting, how Krok takes a personal interest. Is he like that with all of his crew? Maybe it's a Decepticon thing; Rodimus doesn't really put in that kind of investment.

Then again, the _Lost Light_ is composed of more people. Tailgate isn't entirely sure what to think.

Krok turns his head to finally address Tailgate, which causes the disposal unit to freeze up. "Autobot?"

"Does it matter?" Fulcrum replies defensively. "His name's Tailgate. He's... well. He and I..." There's a helpless gesture from him. "You can trust him, okay? It's a long story."

Krok glances at the K-Classer, then nods. "You're going to owe me one very long report."

"I understand." Fulcrum offers Tailgate an apologetic glance. "But we have more pressing issues."

"Pit _yes_ we do. The ship's in bad shape," Crankcase snaps.

" _Ultra Magnus_ is in bad shape! Spin, you have to--"

Krok holds up his hand for silence. Interestingly, without any further bickering, the entire group goes silent. "Misfire mentioned him. What I'm wondering is why you think we owe this Autobot anything, Fulcrum."

"Krok. _Sir._ " Fulcrum wrings his hands together a little. "I know Ultra Magnus is a little, um, famous for hunting down Decepticons, but he helped save my life."

"He also sentenced you as a captive on his ship," Krok argues.

"He didn't have to pull me up as the ship was falling apart, but he did." Fulcrum gives him a pleading look. "I know what it looks like, but think of it as this way: I really don't want more animosity between us and the _Lost Light_. If we put Ultra Magnus back together, I think their captain will be pretty understanding and grateful. I think we should repair him."

"For the record," Misfire pipes up enthusiastically, "I agree."

"You _would_ ," Crankcase gripes. "How many Autobots are we going to pick up because of these two idiots? I really don't think we should waste what little medical supplies we have for someone like him."

"He's not a bad guy. He's strict but he didn't have to help me!" Fulcrum frowns. "Krok--"

"That's enough." With a sigh, Krok peers down at the unconscious enforcer. "I'll give it some thought on what to do with him. For now, I'd prefer a debriefing in the _Weak Anthropic Principle_. I'll decide what to do with Ultra Magnus then. Spinister and Misfire, are you two going to be enough to carry him?"

"Nah, I think we should be enough." Spinister kneels down, dragging the bulky Autobot up by the arm.

"I've got the other arm!" Misfire enthusiastically announces.

"Crankcase, go over this wreckage. See if there's anything useful. Take Grimlock with you," Krok instructs. "Be back in twenty minutes."

"Fine, whatever. Come here, you lugnut," Crankcase grumbles, tugging the Dynobot away by the tail.

Which leaves, at last, just the three of them. Krok, Fulcrum, and Tailgate.

Krok gives Tailgate another skeptical look, then nods towards the direction Spinister and Misfire left in. "We'll talk in the ship."

"Sir--" Fulcrum starts, his voice a little more nervous.

"I said," Krok repeats, slightly less patiently, "we'll talk in the ship, Fulcrum. You and ... him."

"Right." With a sigh, Fulcrum lowers his head a little. "Yes sir."

Unsure of what to think or what to even say, Tailgate quietly follows them over the hill, away from the debris of the _Lost Light_ 's brig.

 

-=-=-

 

The _Weak Anthropic Principle_ is a pretty strange name for a ship, even Tailgate will admit. The spacecraft _itself_ is, all-in-all, extremely strange; he can't tell if maybe it was better looking before the crash, but after? It seems like the whole thing is ready to collapse, a heap of metal that is composed of other ships and strung together with whatever they had laying around. It's nothing at all like the _Lost Light_.

The interior is even more unusual. It's thoroughly _lived in_. While the _Lost Light_ feels very new in a lot of ways, Krok's ship certainly feels like it was made with sheer determination. For however much Crankcase complained about it before, no one seems to outright hate the ship. It's like a twisted love-hate relationship between the Decepticons and their vessel.

Both Fulcrum and Tailgate are forced to sit in Krok's office, which is probably the most organized location in the _Weak Anthropic Principle_ , Tailgate is guessing. At least, by Krok's overall attitude thus far and everything Fulcrum's ever said about him.

"I want you," Krok addresses Fulcrum as he's handing over a datapad, "to focus on writing a report for everything you experienced while I talk to your friend here. When you're done, you can verbally summarize."

"That's a lot of... I mean, uh." Fulcrum winces and sighs. "Okay. Yes, sir." He gives an apologetic glance at Tailgate before turning his head down to start typing away.

After a firm nod from Krok, he looks down at Tailgate with a steady pair of red optics. "I didn't get your name."

"Tailgate. It's Tailgate." Politely, the disposal unit offers his hand to Krok. "I heard a lot about you, sir. It's an honor to meet you."

The warm reception seems to give Krok pause, an optical ridge raised at Tailgate before he hesitantly takes his hand. "From Fulcrum, I expect."

The K-Con glances up briefly to give a nervous smile before returning to his report. Tailgate nods. "He talked a lot about you and the rest of the crew to me. Fulcrum and I got pretty close while he was on the _Lost Light_."

"Close?" Krok echoes warily. Fulcrum makes a small squeaking noise of uncertainty, but he doesn't say anything.

The reception with the Autobots might have been varied, and Tailgate isn't sure how things will turn out with the Decepticons, but he feels like honesty might be the best method here. So he just gives another confirming nod of his head. "We started out as friends and things developed on their own from there, sir. I'm not ashamed to say that things got intimate."

Krok completely ignores Fulcrum's sputter. "He didn't exactly specify if you were Autobot. I don't see a sigil."

"I don't have an official badge, but I went through their code and ceremony," Tailgate responds. "To be perfectly honest, I completely missed the war. I was in stasis for most of it. I don't have any grudge against the Decepticons."

There's a hum of interest from Krok. "What were you before, then?"

"Oh. I was part of the Primal Vanguard. I'm a bomb disposal unit. I was supposed to join Nova Prime and the others on the Ark, but I didn't... quite make it. An accident happened."

"Tailgate of Nova Prime's crew. Hm." Krok lifts his head. "Don't suppose Fulcrum mentioned that I'm a war historian?"

"I... I believe he did."

"Then I'll be interested in asking you a few more questions later. Not in reference to Fulcrum's time on the Autobot ship." Krok exhales slowly. "In any case, whatever your relationship is with him isn't technically my business, but I don't think I need to make myself clear in regards to my interest in his safety. Suffice it to say, if anything happens to Fulcrum--"

"It won't." Tailgate is a bit startled by his own forwardness. "Um, sir."

A very patient cycle of air vents from the commanding officer. "If it _were_ to happen because of you, then it will be the single biggest mistake you'll have done. Do you understand?"

"You don't need to threaten him," Fulcrum growls from his seat.

" _Fulcrum_ , are you done with that report?"

With a sigh, the K-Con ducks his head back to the datapad. "No, sir. I'll shut up, sir."

"For the record," Tailgate pipes up in a tiny voice, "I completely understand."

Krok nods slowly. "Then I don't think we'll have a problem, you and I. You're welcome enough on this ship, but you will take an order when it's given, just like anyone else. Understand?"

"Got it." Tailgate pauses briefly. "Are you going to repair Ultra Magnus?"

"There's a part of me that thinks, as a _Decepticon_ , we're better off leaving him for dead," Krok says with a soft rumble in his voice. "As it stands, Fulcrum made a good point. And if he did save his life, then I have an obligation to get him repaired."

There's a relieved feeling running through Tailgate's body. He bows his head and nods. "Thank you."

"Done! I'm done." Fulcrum stands and holds out the datapad to Krok.

Briefly, Krok just peers at the datapad, then at the K-Classer. "You reported everything important?"

"Yeah."

" _Everything?_ " Krok takes one step forward to peer down at Fulcrum.

"Um. ... _Pit_ , Krok, don't do that." With a sigh, the K-Con retracts the datapad to add a few more words. "Hate it when you give me that look."

Krok folds his arms. "I wouldn't if you'd make sure to tell me everything I needed to know."

"Just a few things." Fulcrum sighs and holds it out again. "Wasn't interested in making a fuss."

"I'll worry about making a fuss if it really needs one." With a bit of a calmer look, Krok glances to the door. "Get yourself to your berth and rest an hour. When Spinister's done with Magnus, we'll have a look at you before we start trying to make repairs."

"What about the _Lost Light_?" Tailgate asks worriedly.

After shaking his head, Krok says, "We don't have enough power to try to contact them. Our best bet is to repair the ship enough so we can even get off the ground. Far as I could tell last, it was still fighting off the organics. Now, both of you, get your afts to recharge."

"There's something I should really..." Fulcrum trails off, then laughs weakly at the scowl that Krok is giving him. "Yeah, I'll just. Get to my room? C'mon, Tailgate."

 

-=-=-

 

It's comforting to be back somewhere he's more familiar with. Frankly, he's _happy_ to be back with the rest of the crew, but at the same time there's a ball of anxiety working through his systems for several various reasons. While Fulcrum isn't particularly worried about how Krok and the others will adapt to Tailgate's presence -- really, they're some of the most adaptable people he's ever _met_ \-- he is concerned about Tailgate's general impressions so far. The ship's not exactly in pristine shape, even if it hadn't crashed. _All_ of them are in some shabby state, really. 

No, Fulcrum shouldn't worry about how things look for his companion and it's horribly shallow, but he can't really help it.

Reluctantly, he leads the way to his room. It's tiny, but it's his, and he's glad to curl up on the comfortable, worn out recharge slab. Even more glad to have Tailgate with him. He sighs, pushing his face against the smaller mech's shoulder.

"Sorry with how this turned out," Fulcrum mumbles.

"It's not bad. I mean, I've wanted to meet your friends, just kinda wish it wasn't like this." Tailgate gives a small, tired laugh. "Krok seems pretty okay, though."

"For what's it worth?" There's a small shift as Fulcrum lightly nuzzles his companion's neck. "I'll try to do what I can to get you back to the _Lost Light_."

Little hands slide up to Fulcrum's back as Tailgate curls up against him. "What are you going to do after that?"

The question is heavy and in response, Fulcrum almost blurts out how he intends to stay with Krok and the others, of course. But that raises several issues; he has _some_ friends on the _Lost Light_ now, and he especially doesn't want to part from Tailgate. So how the hell is he going to make this work?

He finds himself frowning, clutching Tailgate a little more tightly to himself.

"I... I'm not really sure," Fulcrum answers as honestly as he can. "I don't want to sound indecisive, but I really have no idea."

"Oh." There's a brief pause as the K-Con feels Tailgate gently huff out air against his plating, venting in thought.

"Look, Tailgate." Wanting to have optic-to-optic level with the smaller mech, Fulcrum leans his head back enough to look down at him. "I want to stay with you, but... I don't want to be apart from my friends, either. But I can't expect them to drop everything and just hop on a ship full of Autobots. So I'm not too sure what my future's looking like at the moment. For now, let's just worry about repairing the ship and we'll do our best to get to the _Lost Light._ I hope by that time, I'll have figured out what I should be doing."

There's no mistaking the vague disappointment in Tailgate's visor. At the same time, Fulcrum knows he couldn't be insincere with him or give some kind of false hope for something. It's hard, but he wants him to understand.

Eventually, Tailgate wraps his arms around Fulcrum a little more snugly. "That'll work for now," the disposal unit agrees softly.

It's not as comforting as Fulcrum would like to be, and he wishes he could offer more. He hasn't had much to give in the first place. On the _Lost Light_ , all Fulcrum _had_ to give him was a model made out of spare bits and pieces that Brainstorm didn't want anymore. He basically give him a present made out of garbage. Here, on the _Weak Anthropic Principle_ , he still feels like he doesn't have a whole lot to give to him.

Constantly, Fulcrum can't help but feel inadequate.

He feels Tailgate's hand lightly trail over his back and his helm in a gentle petting motion. Wearily, Fulcrum sighs into the contact.

The pair eventually find themselves in recharge.

 

-=-=-

 

An hour hardly seems like much for rest, but it's better than nothing. Getting up is difficult, especially considering how warm it'd been just curled up against Tailgate. He's not going to ignore Krok's orders, though. With plenty of reluctance, Fulcrum gets back to his feet, gently leading his partner through the hall. 

While he's glad to be back with Krok and the others, Fulcrum isn't thrilled to see that Tailgate is immediately being put to work. He doesn't argue, though, reluctantly watching as his commanding officer instructs Tailgate to assist Crankcase with gathering pieces of the ship outside and trying to put it back together. He supposes that it's not as bad as when he himself had been on the _Lost Light_ ; Krok isn't really holding Tailgate here against his will. It still bothers him that he can't just be with Tailgate right now.

No, Krok is _insisting_ that Spinister gives a medical exam. 

He sighs as he's herded into the medbay, ducking his head down as he goes to sit on the lone examination table. There's a pause as he stares at what's occupying about a fourth of the room: Ultra Magnus, unconscious and slumped in a corner.

"Is he okay there?" Fulcrum squints at the enormous enforcer warily.

Spinister and Krok briefly glance at the second-in-command of the _Lost Light_ which eventually earns a shrug from the medic. "He's not dead," Spinister offers.

"So he's gonna be all right?"

"He's not gonna die if you wanna know that." Spinister leans in to peer at Fulcrum, gently moving an arm to test the range of motion. "Stopped any leaking and did what repairs we could afford to make. Which isn't saying much."

As Spinister continues his examination, Krok adds in, "Unless we suddenly manage to find enough supplies to make a full repair, Ultra Magnus isn't going to be moving very much at the moment, even when or if he wakes up."

For the most part, the examination goes smoothly. Some words are murmured by Spinister, mostly commentary on Fulcrum's state of being. Physically, he's actually very well off, considering the fact that the _Lost Light_ had working washracks unlike the _Weak Anthropic Principle_. Having a steady resource of energon as well to refuel with is helpful, unlike their more desperate situation of scrounging and Misfire siphoning from corpses.

There is a pause as Spinister's fingertips glide over the back of Fulcrum's neck. It makes the K-Con jerk a little, trying to remain still. 

A soft _hmm_ escapes the occasionally violent savant as he circles around to peer at him. A thumb rolls over the same spot again.

"Krok, you might wanna come here," Spinister calls him over.

Oh. Pit. That's not going to be good. Fulcrum tenses up as Krok approaches, the tactician leaning over to peer at what Spinister's indicating.

"Not sure I quite recognize the markings," Krok admits. "Seen it a few times, not often."

"Mnemosurgery," Spinister responds easily.

" _Ah._ " A scrutinizing look is given to Fulcrum. "Suppose I would have made that conclusion if _someone_ didn't leave it out of his report. Which indicates that it was against your will."

Familiar shame gets choked up in Fulcrum's throat, and his vents tighten, making it harder to cycle air. "I. I didn't want it to influence your decision about Ultra Magnus--"

"When I tell you to give me a full report," Krok informs him sternly, red optics narrowed and frustrated, "you will _give it to me._ Is that understood?"

In a tiny voice, Fulcrum murmurs, "Yes."

"Now tell me what happened."

There's a nervous flinch from Fulcrum before he complies. "Okay, okay. I-I really don't know if I understand why it happened entirely, but the mnemosurgeon they have on their ship? I think he thought that his friend wasn't safe around me. So he attacked me. I didn't do anything, though."

"I have a hard time imagining that you did anything to make yourself seem like a threat," Krok remarks flatly.

"Thanks? I think?" Fulcrum scowls a little.

"You remember his name?"

"Krok..." Fulcrum's hands curl into fists.

"Do you?" It's a quick switch from making a verbal jab at the K-Con to being incredibly protective. 

There's a heavy sigh before Fulcrum finally says, "Chromedome." As angry and frightened as he is of the Autobot, he hopes he didn't just make things worse by saying his name. Krok's nature about his crew is typically endearing, and it speaks levels to how seriously he takes his position and _need_ to look after everyone by what lengths he went to find Fulcrum.

Really, he just hopes that it doesn't cause potential issues in the future. They _are_ Decepticons.

"All right, then." Clearly committing the name to memory, Krok nods his head to the medbay's exit. "I need you to get Grimlock to help carry Ultra Magnus to the cargo bay. He's taking up room here and I don't want Spinister to shoot him because it's an unrecognized placement in his space. After that, you start work on trying to get our systems back online. Got it?"

No arguments, no talking back. Fulcrum slides to his feet and immediately goes to hunt down the Dynobot.

 

-=-=-

 

The entire crew is pretty interesting to Tailgate, and overall about what he expects. In all of the descriptions Fulcrum's ever had about the others, he'd been completely sincere. Interestingly, Misfire reminds him a lot of Swerve only his attention span seems _a lot_ worse, while Crankcase has not been bad to work with -- really, the grouchiness is nothing in comparison to what Tailgate has dealt with -- and frankly has been _great_ to talk to about ships. For the few times he's walked by Spinister, he'd either been thankfully working on Ultra Magnus diligently or shooting the floor for making "weird noises". The one that probably intimidates him the most is Krok, though not for anything _terrible_ ; he's just very up front and very particular about his crew, which as far as Tailgate can tell? Are good things.

The only surprise is Grimlock, an Autobot that Tailgate does not recognize. Although he feels some mild disappointment that Fulcrum didn't mention Grimlock to him, Tailgate understands why. Fulcrum's dealt with enough and didn't need additional suspicion from the others.

As he's working on dragging pieces back towards the ship, he finds himself more grimy than usual. Not that it bothers him, particularly, but he looks down at himself and silently notes how easy it is to notice on his white plating. The rest of the Decepticons are all dinged up, scraped, and about in the same condition Fulcrum had been before Ultra Magnus had him arrested. Every time he looks at Crankcase, he can't help but wince in sympathy, which only earns an irritable snort from him.

Eventually, some hours later, Crankcase decides they've had enough and have found all that they can within a certain radius of their crashed spacecraft. That's fair enough, what with how the sky is dimming and night is rolling in. It's hard to believe that they've been out here this long. As they travel back, scrap metal in their arms, Tailgate looks up and watches the steady glow in the sky as the _Lost Light_ battles with the organic aliens.

It's strange to think that one day they're saving organics from Decepticons, now they're fighting some while he's cooperating with Decepticons. Life is a bit funny.

Briefly, he's surprised to see the unconscious form of Ultra Magnus in the cargo bay as he deposits the scrap metal. He hopes that the enforcer is all right, though he supposes the location will have to do. It's not as if Magnus is of average height.

He heads up towards the bridge, trying to dust himself off as he reaches it, watching for a moment as Fulcrum seems to be concentrating deeply on one of the control panels. Really, he almost feels bad for interrupting, but he knows it's necessary.

"Fulcrum?" Tailgate calls out.

The technician perks up a little, turning to face him with a warm smile. "Hey, Tailgate." He holds out his hand, which Tailgate gladly grabs onto immediately. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. What've you been up to?"

"Hm, well." There's a pause as Fulcrum leans in, using his thumb to wipe off a bit of dirt from Tailgate's face plate. The action just warms his spark a little more around the Decepticon. "I've just been making sure all of our systems are working. Nav is good, but our communication signal is pretty bad. I think some of the equipment probably got fragged on the crash. Right now, I'm trying to see if it's possible to track and see what the _Lost Light_ is up to."

"Any luck?" Tailgate asks hopefully, squeezing his hand.

A sigh and a shrug from Fulcrum. "Kind of? I have to keep rebooting the signal right now. I'm cycling it over and over so it doesn't get cut out. Hopefully, we'll get to a point where we can see how everyone's doing. I'm sure they're okay, though."

"Really?" Tailgate himself tries to be optimistic, but it's good to hear it from someone else.

Which, Fulcrum doesn't fail to do. He nods and leans in to lightly rub his forehead against Tailgate's. "I'm sure. Your friends aren't weak and the ship's in decent shape, last we saw. They're gonna be okay, Tailgate."

Tilting his head up slightly, Tailgate brushes his cheek against Fulcrum's. "Thanks. Oh, right! Um, Misfire said to come get you, that we should have a moment to go refuel before we get back to work."

"Sounds good." Fulcrum stands up, then pauses, almost looking horrified for a second. " _Scrap!_ Uh."

"Fulcrum?" What's with the reaction? Tailgate pauses and looks up at him, trying to analyze the expression that Fulcrum has. It's a reaction he's seen before, something that Fulcrum is either embarrassed or ashamed of. "You can talk to me," Tailgate immediately assures. "What's wrong?"

"It's, uh. The energon's going to be incredibly filtered." Fulcrum rubs the back of his neck. "It'll taste funny in comparison to what Swerve has in his stocks and half the time it's siphoned from old ship engines and other times--"

Immediately, Tailgate squeezes his hand, making sure that their fingers are more intertwined. "Fulcrum, it's okay. I know you guys get by on whatever's around, so it's not gonna be super fancy or anything. You're not gonna make a bad impression or anything."

"Um. Right." Bashfully, Fulcrum nods his head. "Sorry."

"It's all right." Gently, Tailgate tugs his hand. "C'mon. Let's go."

Both of them walk side-by-side down the hallway, hands not disconnecting. There's a certain amount of tensity in Fulcrum's grip, a shy bit more than usual. Nervousness, maybe. It's not unusual. It's weird how much Fulcrum is worried about impressing him, though he supposes considering what the K-Con knows of Tailgate, it isn't that shocking. In a way, Tailgate can't help but feel guilty about it.

Really, he's glad to be with Fulcrum. 

The nice difference, at least, is that when they arrive in the humbly sized mess hall, no one seems to particularly _care_ how tightly he holds onto Fulcrum's hand. There's a brief glance from Crankcase at most, but otherwise there's just a resounding indifference.

Granted, again, this is a much smaller crew he's dealing with. Still, it's just nice that it appears to be an irrelevant non-issue.

"Some parts are further off. I couldn't tell you exactly where," Crankcase reports, grunting softly as Misfire distributes a glass of energon. "We'll have to spread out tomorrow if we want to find the essentials."

"Mm, not thrilled, but we'll manage." Krok glances at the pair as they sit at the table that's clearly been made out of various scrap metal. One of the legs of the table looks kind of like someone's arm, actually, if Tailgate pays too much attention. "Any good news, Fulcrum?"

"I'm not sure," Fulcrum answers as honestly as he can. "Which I know isn't what you were hoping to hear. I'm cycling our signal to try to reach the _Lost Light_ , but I don't know how well that's working. We're just missing too many parts. Without 'em, we're going to fly completely blind, aside from what our optics would see. I'm hoping maybe I can instead trace down the lost equipment. They might have enough power for me to trace a signal."

There's a grunt of annoyance, but Krok doesn't seem overly frustrated over the subject. "It is what it is. We'll get what we need tomorrow."

"So whaddaya think, Spin? That big ol' Ultra Magnus gonna make it?" Misfire converses with the large and sort-of-intimidating medic.

"Yeah, I think he's just gotta sleep off the rest." Spinister shrugs.

Abruptly, Tailgate feels Fulcrum's hand leave his own when the K-Con reaches up to try to grab Grimlock by the neck. Apparently, the Dynobot is attempting to shove his face into one of the glasses of energon. "Hey! No no, Grimlock! We talked about this. No reptile mode at the mess hall table!"

Honestly, he can't help but observe everyone else in amusement. It's kind of endearing to see how casual the Decepticons are with each other. Not that the Autobots are much different, but that's the _thing_ ; everyone makes these guys out to be so awful. Even the data Rewind uploaded to him made that such a clear point.

Now? Not so much. Not with how Crankcase gives a bark of laughter at how Fulcrum tries to coax Grimlock into his root mode, Misfire gently nagging Spinister with inane questions, and so on. It's just kind of. Kind of nice.

"Tailgate," Krok suddenly speaks, voice low. "A word?"

The earns a surprised look, but Tailgate nods. "Okay."

The commanding officer of the _Weak Anthropic Principle_ glances at the others before he motions for Tailgate to follow. Briefly, he glances at Fulcrum, who is still being distracted by Grimlock. Deciding that this shouldn't take long, Tailgate stands and shuffles off after Krok so they can stand in the hallway.

Krok peers down at the smaller Cybertronian, then exhales slowly. "I'm perfectly aware that you and Fulcrum... care very much about each other." The tone of the conversation seems a bit weird for Krok, but he's no less than professional. Tailgate just hopes this doesn't become another conversation very similar to one he had with Ultra Magnus! "And I accept that. It only becomes my business if you're a threat to us, which hasn't been the case. So I'll respect whatever it is you two decide to be."

Not's not entirely what he'd been anticipating. Tailgate's visor brightens considerably. "Thanks, Krok. That means a lot."

"There _is_ one subject we should address, though." A frown now forms. "There's one thing about you I _don't_ particularly approve of."

"Being an Autobot?"

Krok snorts a little. "I'm not thrilled about that, but in case you hadn't noticed, I'm tolerating a Dynobot on my ship. That and Fulcrum's reported that you haven't had any part of the war. So I have no grudge against you. But no, there's one other thing. You remember that I said I was a historian."

"What sort of historian?" Tailgate asks warily.

"Primarily about wars, but I know plenty of other matters. I'm no archivist, but I'm well-read."

There's an abrupt sensation of worry and anxiety building up inside of him. Nervously, Tailgate wrings his hands together. "So...?"

Krok narrows his optics in silence.

"Tailgate!" Interrupting their talk, thankfully, is Fulcrum himself. However, his voice sounds a bit panicked as he scrambles over. "Krok, you too. I don't have contact with the _Lost Light_ , but I'm tracing them. I don't think it's-- well, I can try to bring up a visual."

"Bridge, now. The rest of you," Krok calls out to the remaining Decepticons, "stay put."

Hurrying after both of the Decepticons, Tailgate feels worry sink into his spark. Are the others okay? Fulcrum must have implied that it was bad. How bad is _bad?_ That's not _good!_ All of his friends.

The technician immediately gets to work, throwing himself into a chair and typing away. "Okay... okay, I'm tracing them right now. They're moving fast." He frowns, then sighs. "Very fast and very vertically."

"Visual?" Krok reminds.

"I'm working on it. Hang on." Slowly, Tailgate walks up behind Fulcrum, grabbing onto his shoulder in some form of comfort. The K-Con doesn't flinch, but he tries to offer a brief flash of a smile to him, though Fulcrum looks just as concerned as Tailgate feels.

Eventually, the screen displays an image. The _Lost Light_ , with smoke trailing off of it as it starts to go down towards the planet. Either in a desperate attempt to land or, worse, they're going to crash.

The image abruptly fizzles out into static. Fulcrum gives a frustrated groan, rubbing his helm. "We _need_ to find those other parts."

"The entire fleet will be on them, no doubt," Krok notes. "They're organics, but there's a lot of them."

"Krok, I need to go out and find the last component to get our communications array working." Fulcrum stands up, giving a heavy sigh. "I don't have a precise coordinate, but I have a general direction. The sooner we get that, the sooner we can get back into contact with Rodimus and his crew."

Abruptly, Krok's hand holds onto Fulcrum's upper arm. There's a pause, and Tailgate doesn't understand the gesture entirely other than Krok just being worried. Eventually, the historian lets go and says, "You aren't going by yourself."

"I'll go," Tailgate immediately volunteers.

"I'm coming back, Krok. Look, those aliens are going to be preoccupied with the Autobots; Tailgate and I shouldn't have any trouble on our own. You can't afford to send anyone else right now. The ship still needs to be repaired, _badly._ " Fulcrum settles his hand to Tailgate's shoulder.

There's a slow, almost seething exhale. It's strange, because Krok doesn't seem to dislike Tailgate, but he doesn't trust him. Does he _know?_ Does he really? Instinctively, Tailgate finds himself leaning closer to Fulcrum.

"Just get your afts back here as soon as you can," Krok mutters.

"All right. Thanks, Krok." There's a brief smile from Fulcrum before he's leading Tailgate out. "You know, um. You don't have to go with me, if you'd feel safer here..."

"Not a chance. I'm going with you, okay?" Tailgate slips his hand into Fulcrum's. "Besides, it's like you said: the aliens are gonna be busy."

"And no one on that ship is particularly weak. I think they'll be okay."

 

-=-=-

 

In the cargo bay of the _Weak Anthropic Principle_ , a pair of blue optics flicker on.


	7. Liars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fulcrum ends up on the Lost Light. Tailgate ends up vouching for him. Nobody is happy about it except probably them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TITLE: Bombs Away  
> CHAPTER: Seven | Liars  
> FANDOM: Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW  
> RATING: M, just to play it safe. **Please pay heed that this chapter has some non-con themes and implications as you read.**  
>  SUMMARY: Fulcrum and Ultra Magnus have some decisions to make.  
> NOTES: Chapter beta'd and edited by Obfuscobble. Thank you immensely for all your help.

There are many things that Krok is willing to have in his ship, and most of the time it's because he has no choice but to have it be tolerated if he at all plans to keep on going with his search and the others for their trip back to Cybertron. An idiot savant, a mechanic with deadly head injury, an insufferable hyperactive jet with no ability to aim his gun, a late religious fanatic, a K-Con with a penchant for cowardice, a braindead Dynobot, and now he's had to house the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord and a small ancient disposal unit. 

Life can be interesting.

Although he's not thrilled, he watches Fulcrum leave with Tailgate. Krok is not a fan of Autobots to begin with, but he's had to swallow that down a few times. The first round when he woke up to find that they'd taken Grimlock "hostage", and now? Now this. While it's less the faction that irritates him with Tailgate, it's the other matter.

Krok has accepted a lot. There are some things, though, that he will not deal with.

He'll wait until they both return to address the issue. For now, he has a lot to let go as he watches Fulcrum slip his hand into Tailgate's as they head off into the horizon. He has a lot to accept, even if it's just dealing with the fact that one of his own has decided to become personally involved with something of an Autobot. It's not a circumstance he's crazy about, but that's not the worst of it.

To put it simply, he will not suffer a liar in his ship.

Krok turns away. There are repairs to be done, and confrontations to be had. It'll eventually be dealt with.

" _Uhh, Krok? You might wanna come down here because the big scary Ultra Magnus is awake and he's asking questions and should I talk? I could talk! I could_ \--"

"Misfire, just watch him. I'm coming down," Krok answers his commlink. "The rest of you, keep working. You know where you need to be."

As Krok heads back into his crashed ship, he debates taking out his gun, just in case. If Ultra Magnus becomes violent, he isn't going to put up with it at all and deal with whatever disappointment Tailgate would have in that decision. Still, if the infamous Decepticon Hunter hasn't tried to attack Misfire yet, he's probably calm enough.

Probably.

So he double-checks to make sure it's at least within his reach. Satisfied with that, he heads down into the cargo bay, watching Misfire peer nervously over one of their crates of various supplies. Turning in his stride, Krok finds himself staring up at the enforcer, who is still slumped over in an awkward sitting position where they'd originally put him.

Ultra Magnus immediately recognizes him. "Krok," he says, in a way that's restrained anger in an attempt to be polite. Subtlety in the manner of speaking is perhaps not one of his strengths.

"Good memory." Krok shrugs, indifferent. "What did Misfire say?"

"A lot, without really saying much."

That's hardly surprising. Misfire's clever where it counts, but his ability to chatter up a storm without giving much away is what made him an ideal guard in this case. Really, he didn't want Ultra Magnus to know much until he actually had a talk with him personally.

"Then allow me to explain." Patiently, Krok drags over another crate, sitting onto it as he peers up at the much larger Cybertronian, speaking very simply, "You're on my ship."

"I'm a hostage," Ultra Magnus concludes, somehow managing to deepen his scowl.

"That's your story. Frankly, I would have been fine with just leaving you in the wreckage to bleed out and die, since I seem to recall you had one of mine as a hostage _first_." Krok narrows his optics, and by Ultra Magnus's expression he doesn't seem thrilled. "But, you apparently saved two members of my unit. So, we took you back and repaired you with what we could. Congratulations, you'll live another day."

That earns something different than an angry frown from Ultra Magnus. It's something more akin to a confused grimace. "My limbs aren't responding."

"We don't have many supplies here, Ultra Magnus." Krok exhales slowly, weary. "Even less after _we_ crash landed. So, my medic patched you up best he could. Your internal self-repair will do the rest, eventually."

"Why did you bother in the first place? A Decepticon repairing an Autobot."

"Famous one, too," Misfire mutters from his hiding place. 

"I ordered Misfire to grab Fulcrum and leave your ship behind," Krok informs the large Autobot, his optics glowing with a hint of frustration. "But something didn't go according to plan. I didn't expect someone like Tailgate there." Someone who means a lot to one of his own. "Then you came in, protecting all three of them. I wouldn't have anticipated that from you. So, as much as I was tempted to leave you to die, Fulcrum made it very clear what happened in his report and what you'd done." 

And he wasn't about to piss off an upwards of 200 Autobots if they didn't get off this planet in time.

"So here's the plan: you'll sit there. We'll feed you, when you need it. We'll repair this ship, take you back to yours, and then we're going our separate ways." Krok stands up slowly. "I'm sure you can be reasonable towards this."

Silence is born between them, unsettling and uncomfortable for everyone. Undoubtedly, mostly for Misfire, who starts to shuffle somewhere behind Krok, though he pays it no heed. Right now, his optics are set to Ultra Magnus and his decision.

Finally, Ultra Magnus's optics dim slightly. "You'll be sure I get back to the _Lost Light_."

"Assuming they don't decide to shoot us, then yes."

"And if they do get violent?"

Krok snorts a little. "Then you're getting off this ship a lot sooner." He turns his head slightly. "Misfire, you stay on guard duty. The rest of us will be out collecting whatever's left of the W.A.P."

"You _reeeeeally_ sure it's safe?" Misfire squints up at Ultra Magnus.

"If he suddenly regains his ability to walk, let me know." Krok jerks a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll come back in a couple of hours regardless."

With that taken care of, he turns and leaves.

 

-=-=-

 

"It must be hard to be in that frametype sometimes," Tailgate comments softly, squeezing the hand in his own.

Fulcrum gives a little shrug. "It's a pain, I'm not gonna lie. Especially since I have to _walk_ everywhere. But I'm alive, and I've been through some crazy stuff; if it means I have one of the worst alt-modes ever, then that's okay."

A small chuckle escapes from Tailgate. "That's a good optimistic view to take."

"Considering all of the scrap I've dealt with? Sometimes, optimism is about all I've had. Slowly, I think things have been getting better." A bit awkwardly, he rubs the back of his neck. "How've you been dealing?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" Tailgate gives him a wry look. "I'm really okay, Fulcrum. I like your friends, and I wanna get to know them better. Are _you_ okay? I know you didn't want to talk about Chromedome before, but..."

"Not sure if I still do," Fulcrum admits quietly. "I'm. I'm still reworking the whole scene in my head. I know he never really liked me to begin with, but that wasn't so uncommon on the _Lost Light_ , you know? I figured that he'd come around sometime after I spent more time with Rewind. Then he just..."

Silence dips in between the two of them as they slowly walk over the dry, crackled land of whatever alien planet they've found themselves on, the name having escaped both of them in the mess of things that's been happening. Dirt and sand rework themselves into Fulcrum's joints, but it's not an unfamiliar feeling, just an uncomfortable one. How often has Tailgate ended up in this sort of situation with his time with the Primal Vanguard, he wonders.

For now, he finds himself dwelling on what happened with the mnemosurgeon. He knows he should tell Tailgate, but sharing it is hard.

"He injected me," Fulcrum mumbles, lowering his helm. "Went through my memories. Everything up to Styx. He saw everything in a span of a few minutes, and it was... awful. Like someone digging around in places they didn't belong, and being reminded of some of the worst moments. Sharing some of the best, and personal ones. I _still_ don't know why, if it's just because I'm a Decepticon or something else."

"I don't know," Tailgate confesses, clutching Fulcrum's hand. "And. And I'm so, _so_ sorry. Rewind and I were trying to find you before anything happened. Swerve helped us."

" _Swerve?_ " Honestly, he's surprised to hear that. "In any case, you don't owe me an apology, Tailgate. You couldn't have known it was gonna happen."

"That doesn't mean I don't wish I could have done something."

There's a small, reassuring smile from Fulcrum. "You were there afterward. I don't know what I would have done if you weren't already in the hallway looking for me. And you've stuck by me all this time. You've done a lot for me."

"I dunno, you're the one that made a present for me," Tailgate reminds.

"You worked your aft off to try to make me feel included and normal on the ship. Look, I'm not gonna constantly want to make this a contest of who's the nicer guy here." Fulcrum shrugs a little. "Because I'm always going to say it's you, and you'll disagree, and we'll both probably be way too humble."

"...Yeah, no, that sounds about right, actually."

Both of them share a small, private chuckle with each other. Intertwined fingers lightly squeeze affectionately at each other as they continue forward, sand kicking back into their joints. The sensation more familiar to Fulcrum than to Tailgate, he supposes. Though he's trying hard to not be hard on himself for what little he can offer on the _Weak Anthropic Principle_. Fulcrum's on the bottom of importance in the Decepticon military, and he's never felt he'd accomplished much besides jumping from a very high place in order to protect Krok and the others.

Tailgate? Tailgate was someone important before. Once part of the Primal Vanguard and he knew Nova Prime; he'd accomplished _so much_ before the war. In the grand scheme of things, Fulcrum's not very important. It's just hard to impress someone who's done so much.

But he knows his own words are honest, too.

"Fulcrum?"

The K-Con looks down curiously at Tailgate. "Hm?"

"Did you, um. Maybe think about what you want to do after we reach the _Lost Light_?"

A steady exhale is made as Fulcrum looks on ahead to the horizon as they keep walking. "I keep turning it around in my head and I'm still not sure. I'm sorry; I really have no idea yet. But I don't think that we should head back to Cybertron, at least. It doesn't exactly sound very safe for us Decepticons. But I don't know that I could leave Krok and the others, either. I doubt they'd want to be around a bunch of Autobots who aren't exactly subtle about how they dislike us." Sometimes he's wondered how Cyclonus has put up with it, but equally he realizes that no one's stupid enough to taunt him either. Fulcrum's a lot easier of a target. 

"But I want to be around you," Fulcrum adds, his voice cracking with a hint of frustration. "I really don't know, Tailgate."

"I shouldn't have asked again so soon," Tailgate admits gently. "I'm just nervous at the idea that I wouldn't see you for a long time."

"I know." Fulcrum feels the same way, honestly. It bothers him that he probably wouldn't see Tailgate for ages. Not unless he went with them, which still isn't a thrilling idea, even though he has made some friends with the Autobots as well. It's not even that he'd have to suffer the Autobots. Frankly? He's had worse from his own faction. He would, however, hate to make the scavengers put up with the same behavior. They don't deserve it.

It's a tough decision, and he still isn't sure what he'd like to do about it.

At the very least he appreciates the patience Tailgate is having with him. Waiting on a decision must not be easy, especially when Tailgate has a lot to worry about. He has plenty more friends on board the Autobot ship to fret about, and an injured commanding officer. While Fulcrum is a bit fond of some of the people in the _Lost Light_ , it's hardly in comparison to the friends Tailgate has made, no doubt.

For now, he needs to do everything that he can to make sure Tailgate is somewhere he belongs.

Eventually, he manages to finally spot it in the distance, or at least he hopes it's accurate to his readings: down a hill in its own little crater is a series of debris that definitely looks like it's from the _Weak Anthropic Principle_. The pile of scrap looks about right, though he isn't sure they can just weld it all back onto the poor, tarnished ship. Still, somehow the others have had the ship flying this long; maybe they really can repair it.

"C'mon." Fulcrum offers a smile to Tailgate, gently tugging him along.

The readings look right as he checks with his wrist; the component he's looking for in order to contact the _Lost Light_ should be in this pile. It's still functional, he hopes. 

Once they reach the scrap pile, they get to work. This is probably not the kind of stuff that Tailgate's really done before, Fulcrum figures; scrounging through piles to pick up just the right thing in order to keep living on. Not that Fulcrum has been doing this for very long. He hasn't been with the scavengers for years and years or anything like that, but he's been with them long enough to have adjusted a little to the lifestyle. 

He knows he really should stop comparing his lifestyle to what Tailgate had before the war, but it must be a little demeaning to do things like this. Yet, Tailgate's been so open and glad to help out. Just part of his good nature.

Fulcrum holds up a piece of the scrap pile, frowning as he looks at it in his hand. It's just part of the hull of the ship, a twisted, sharp piece of metal. It's nothing, but it holds like a knife. Kind of a morbid thing to notice, but it's mildly interesting.

"I think I have it!" Tailgate holds it up; a small orb-like device, turning and clicking with a blinking light, bits of cable and wire dangling off of it. Their ability to project a communication from the ship.

"Hey! Nicely done!" Smiling broadly, Fulcrum places a hand to Tailgate's shoulder. "Careful; if you end up good at scavenging, I think Krok's gonna want to keep you for good. He's a bit habitual at adopting people."

A small giggle emits from the disposal unit. "You know, when people were telling me about the Decepticons, you guys really aren't at all what I was expecting."

"I get that impression a lot. From other Decepticons, even." Fulcrum shrugs.

Then he's momentarily distracted, his optics glancing over Tailgate's shoulder to the horizon. There are a few figures heading towards them. Cybertronian, not organic. He feels as though he vaguely recognizes them, which is strange because none of the silhouettes match any of the _Lost Light_ crew, and they're definitely not any of the scavengers.

Then the realization hits him. Hard. The Decepticon prisoners that had been arrested by the Autobots. That's why he feels like he knows them. This is _bad!_ Even if he tried to contact Krok, there's no way that the scavengers would make it here on time! Fulcrum can't transform and flee, and he knows for a fact that Tailgate wouldn't leave him, either.

"Tailgate," he whispers nervously. "Don't turn around."

"Fulcrum?" The blue glow of the disposal unit's visor increases slightly. "What's wrong?"

"The Decepticons that you all ran into, that were put into the brig. They fell from the ship, but some of them made it," Fulcrum tells him quietly. " _Don't move._ They're heading our way, and we can't outrun them. I can already tell you that."

Tailgate tries to not fidget. "How-- how many?"

"Four, I think. I'm unarmed."

"Me too." Tailgate looks up at him hopefully. "Could you talk to them?"

Grimly, Fulcrum peers down at the smaller mech. "They won't just leave us alone, no matter what I say. They're not like Krok and the others, or. Or like me. I sure as hell can't fight them off, either. But I..." Gently, his grip increases on Tailgate's shoulder. "I might be able to trick them. You have to play along. Whatever I say, play along. Okay?"

"O-okay." There's obvious nervousness in Tailgate's voice.

"Tailgate." Pit, he hates this. He hates that he doesn't have much of a better choice, but Fulcrum is going to do whatever it takes to keep Tailgate safe. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes!" the disposal unit immediately responds, his whisper hushed. "I trust you."

"Okay. Good. I-I'm sorry, but..." Fulcrum glances up, watching the Decepticons approach. They're still a bit far off, just a bit out of hearing range, he hopes. Especially considering that they're keeping their voices low. He turns Tailgate around by the shoulders, gritting his teeth for a moment as he regretfully places the sharp piece of shrapnel to the smaller mech's throat; it earns a startled tiny noise from Tailgate and it immediately allows guilt to settle into Fulcrum's spark already. Leaning in close, he murmurs, "But remember: whatever happens next, I love you."

 

-=-=-

 

Silence doesn't bother Ultra Magnus like it bothers some, not in cases of the general sense. Peace and quiet on the ship usually meant that he could get work done much more efficiently, and it was such a blessed rarity on the ship. Yet here, right now, all it's really left him is his own thoughts. The Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord, second-in-command and head of security of the _Lost Light_ has been left to sit crippled in the cargo bay of some dingy Decepticon ship. Without much to look at, he at times finds his optics locking with the filthy jet's as the guard Krok left him with peers at him from behind some crates.

Misfire. That was his name. Ultra Magnus has some various minor records in his memory files about the jet. Hardly much of a danger in most circumstances, but very obviously a criminal. Not that it was hard for most Decepticons. Misfire, similarly to Krok himself, is covered in grime, the plating scraped and raw. Prior to any time spent in the washracks, he recalls Fulcrum's state had been very similar. Likely the rest of the crew isn't very different, Ultra Magnus suspects. He isn't impressed, but he's in no position to cringe away. 

No, at the moment, he's at their mercy. 

Yet, all Misfire _does_ is stare at him from behind the crates. The tips of his wings are seen from over the top of the boxes, twitching. Nervousness? No, perhaps he is scheming. That seems more appropriate. 

Grubby fingers curl over the top of the crate as Misfire slowly stands up from his crouch, frowning at Ultra Magnus. Finally, the silence is broken when Misfire speaks.

"When you're able to move again, are you gonna eat me?" Misfire ducks back down behind his spot quickly after the question is asked.

That forces Ultra Magnus's head to jerk back slightly as he looks down warily at the Decepticon, baffled by the inquiry. "That's disgusting," the enforcer informs him sternly. "And no, I won't."

"Are you _sure?_ " The jet's fingers tap on the top of the crate he's crouching behind. "Everyone says that you do."

"The Decepticons."

Misfire nods. "Right. A lot of 'em say that you eat every Decepticon you've ever caught! Nobody ever sees them again."

"That's because I _arrest_ them for breaking the law. I don't eat anyone."

"Pff, whatever you say." There's a wrinkle of Misfire's nose.

Does this Decepticon honestly believe that he eats the criminals he catches? He supposes that he should anticipate some sort of rumors to float about himself amongst the Decepticon military, but _really_ , who would even believe that?

Well. Apparently Misfire does.

Ultra Magnus exhales steadily before stating, "Several of the Decepticons I've arrested were placed into a prison. I have never eaten anyone. You should know better and be more responsible than to believe mere rumors."

There's a dubious look given from Misfire. "Now wait a second-- are you _lecturing_ me?"

"I am correcting you and advising you be more aware of what you hear." Ultra Magnus frowns a bit more than typical of him. "In any case, even if I did for some reason devour my prisoners, I am certainly in no condition to move at the moment."

A brief pause of silence rolls in again, and slowly Misfire rises from his crouch. Concern doesn't mark his face so much as curiosity now, his red optics brightening. He gives a brief _hmm_ out loud, then a crooked smile forms.

It occurs to Ultra Magnus that he really shouldn't have reminded him of that fact.

Gradually, Misfire inches forward, glancing up momentarily at the larger mech before continuing his approach. Slowly, he reaches out and pinches the tip of the Autobot's foot.

"Can you feel that?" Misfire asks. His wings are flicking energetically.

"Yes," Ultra Magnus confirms warily.

"But you can't, you know, wiggle it or anything."

"No. I cannot."

Another little _hum!_ of interest emits from the jet, then the smile becomes a full-on grin. Briefly, Ultra Magnus wonders if the Decepticon intends to torture him, then discards the idea almost immediately. There's no suggestion in his behavior to provide that, and he certainly doubts that a personality like Krok's would intend such a matter, considering he'd just been repaired. He can't conclude that with 100% confidence, but it doesn't seem likely that Misfire is motivated as a sadist.

Basically, if this was almost any other group of Decepticons in a different situation, it would be a very real possibility.

Instead, Misfire is just climbing up onto his lap. Although Ultra Magnus can feel the weight and the contact on his plating, he can't react to it. Literally only his head is able to move at the moment as the rest of his systems sluggishly work to recover. He looks down, scowling in disapproval at the Decepticon practically scaling him, leaving behind traces of muck and smudges.

"Pit, you're enormous! I mean I noticed when I was on the ship -- what was it, the _Lost Bright_?" Misfire squints an optic as he tries to remember.

" _Lost Light_ ," Ultra Magnus corrects firmly.

"Really? That's kind of an overly dramatic name for a ship. Sheesh." There's a soft grunt as Misfire picks up Ultra Magnus's left wrist. "Wow! Look at these hands."

"They're proportionate to the rest of my body."

Misfire plops the palm on top of his own head. "I dunno, they're kind of ginormous. You know what they say about people with big hands!"

There's a wary look that Ultra Magnus gives him. "What... _do_ people say?"

For some reason, Misfire gives him an incredulous look. Then, there's a small snort and a strange smile as he pats the back of the enforcer's hand. "Usually something like, _wow those are big hands._ "

"That would be a factual statement," Ultra Magnus confirms. Part of him feels like he's missed something, but he decides it must not be important. Perhaps it's simply another ridiculous rumor about him from the Decepticons. "I would appreciate it if you stopped touching me."

"What?" Red optics widen, a faux innocence behavior he's seen in many mechs; Misfire is clearly no different. "Me? Touch you?" He drags a finger down Ultra Magnus's chest. "Like this?"

If there was any way to somehow deepen his disapproving look, Ultra Magnus does his best effort in order to do so. "Yes. Stop that."

"Well, I guess you could make me stop. If you could move, of course." Misfire grins broadly, poking and prodding at the Autobot's plating. "Touch! I'm touching you!"

" _Stop it._ "

At every bit of contact, grit and grime is left behind by the Decepticon. It doesn't hurt, but it certainly grates his nerves and Ultra Magnus supposes that in that moment if he could move, he probably would have done something impulsive! Like punch a wall or-- or something. This is unacceptable behavior, the sort of mischievousness he'd anticipate from one of the crew of the _Lost Light_!

And not, he silently notes, from some Decepticon scoundrel.

"I could probably do just about anything to you and there's nothing that you can do about it," Misfire muses. "Wow, you're a _lot_ less threatening like this."

Gradually, it starts to occur to Ultra Magnus why Krok chose this Decepticon to be his guard. Not because Misfire is particularly intimidating, nor is his criminal record _that_ impressive. After all, he's dealt with far, far worse. No, it's because of something else. 

It's because he's everything that he can't stand in a person and there's _absolutely nothing that he can do about it._

"Clever, Krok." The words are gritted out to himself, Ultra Magnus's optics narrowing.

"What was that?" Misfire pipes up.

The Autobot sighs. "Nothing."

 

-=-=-

 

That is probably not the time in which he'd hoped to have ever heard those words from Fulcrum. It's not terribly romantic to be held at knife point by the very same mech who just finally said, you know. _The "L" word._ Tailgate fidgets with the transmitter in his hands, his visor glowing frantically as the piece of shrapnel presses lightly against his neck cables and essential fuel lines.

He trusts Fulcrum, though. He said as much. He has to trust him.

So he holds still, watching with some dread as the Decepticons make their approach. They're bigger than both himself and Fulcrum, though he knows that's not hard to do at all. Tailgate feels like he recognizes them, but he didn't really take part in the battle that caused them to be arrested. So, their names fail to come to mind. 

"Well, well. Look at who we have here," one of them drawls in some kind of amusement.

"Oh." Fulcrum puts on his very best tone of voice to convey sounding bored. The shrapnel is removed from Tailgate's neck. "It's just you. I was almost worried that I'd have to deal with the Autobots." Tailgate finds himself being turned around by the K-Con. "Hand it over."

" _Excuse me?_ We all heard about your little infatuation with this _minibot._ "

Tailgate does his best to not wince or groan. Right, okay. Of course they would know. Everyone seemed to.

"I'm perfectly aware that gossip infected everyone at an impressive rate." Fulcrum holds out his hand to Tailgate, motioning for the transmitter. Carefully, the disposal unit hands it to him. "I guess I just never anticipated for you to have a knack for that sort of thing, Tentakil. Did you gossip a lot amongst the other grunts of the army?"

The named Decepticon marches forward and Tailgate doesn't know what to do. He wants to fling up his arms and protect Fulcrum, but the technician gives the smaller mech a shove, pushing him aside as Tentakil reaches down and grabs Fulcrum by the chin.

"Watch your mouth," Tentakil warns.

"And watch your hand," Fulcrum grates out. "You're sullying my face."

"What in the Pit makes you think you have any ability to tell us what to do?" another Decepticon demands.

"I'm sorry, did my armature change in the last few hours? Did I miss that? I'm _K-Class._ " Fulcrum narrows his optics. "I have the greatest honor any Decepticon's been given. I was made to kill Autobots. The rest of you, _apparently_ , were made to get captured."

Wearing any bit of confidence on his plating isn't much of Fulcrum's forte. This abrupt change in behavior seems strange to Tailgate, but he quietly hopes it's just an act. It makes sense if it is; a lot of the Decepticons are fierce. Frightening. Fulcrum is none of that. Maybe this is what he's done in the past to get by? Pretend to be confident?

He isn't sure. But Tailgate hopes, because that's one of the few things he can do right now.

A startled squeak emits when Tailgate is forced onto his feet by one of the other Decepticons. Fulcrum doesn't look his way, doesn't flinch.

"You were arrested, too," Tentakil points out, his engine growling, trying to intimidate.

"And yet I got to walk around freely on the ship full of Autobots, drinking Fortress Maximus's weight in high-grade energon as I pleased. I think you're forgetting something very important: it's not all ... _swordplay._ That's what you use, right? Anyway." There's a sigh from the K-Con, conveying impatience. "I play the helpless coward and plead my way around the Autobots, and they made the choice to trust me. It's not hard."

"What about your little piston friend here?" muses the Decepticon holding onto Tailgate's shoulders.

With the way Tentakil still has his hand gripped around Fulcrum's jaw, he can't turn his head. Still, his yellow optics glance in Tailgate's direction, just briefly. In that second, their optics lock. It isn't long, but Tailgate can see the truth. How worried and frightened Fulcrum truly is.

Trust him. Just trust him.

"What about him?" Fulcrum says casually after he looks away from Tailgate. "It was easy to get him to trust me and get what I wanted."

"You!" Quick, Tailgate. Think of something insulting. Something mean. "You big _jerk!_ "

Okay. Not his best remark.

"Eloquently put," Fulcrum comments wryly. "Would you let go of me already? I'd really rather not waste my payload on any of you."

Tentakil gives him a suspicious look. "I thought the little Autobot here examined you and didn't find the explosive."

"Says he's a bomb disposal unit right here on his arm," the 'Con holding him confirms, forcing Tailgate's limb up to show it off.

There's a brief moment of silence from Fulcrum. Clever as he is, he didn't anticipate on that, it seems. Tailgate's spark skips a pulse and he feels himself panicking. Everything weighs on Fulcrum's constructed lie, that he was tricking all of them all along, that he was using them for his own survival. Tailgate needs to help him somehow to enforce that.

Tailgate all but shouts, "I didn't know! I'm not a bomb disposal unit, not really!"

All optics turn to him, Fulcrum's included.

"I'm a waste disposal unit! I told Ratchet to put down _bomb_ disposal unit. I lied! I don't know anything about dismantling bombs, I just-- I trusted him when he said he didn't have it anymore! I took his word for it!" There's something almost like a pounding sensation in his body as he feels his fuel pump's pace increase, and he trembles in anxiety. 

"Well," Fulcrum exhales. "There you have it."

Slowly, Tentakil removes his hold on him. The K-Con dusts himself off a little, then cycles his vents. "In any case, what is it that all of you intend to do? Tailwind, you seem the most reasonable, if I remember right."

The Decepticon standing next the one holding Tailgate steps forward, arms folded. "We were considering on waiting to see how things play out with the organics and the Autobots. Then maybe pick off their ship.

"That's probably the dumbest idea you could have picked," Fulcrum says with a snort. "Look, my crew is here. I came out here to grab some parts and head back to repair our ship. Once it's all been reassembled, we're taking off. Your chances of survival are better off if you team up with us."

"What's a K-Con care about survival?" Tailwind asks, narrowing his gaze.

"The longer I survive this planet, then the more Autobots I get to kill. _My_ plan is that after we're done with repairs, I'll probably just jump off the ship and head face-first into the _Lost Light_ crew. Whatever's left of it." Fulcrum shrugs. "Then the rest of you can be on your merry way to wherever with the other Decepticons."

"And what should we do with the minibot?" the 'Con holding Tailgate wonders, his grip tightening.

"That's entirely up with you, Seawing." Fulcrum takes his attention to the piece of shrapnel in his hand, flicking a thumb over it. "After the crash he was a hostage. Do whatever you want with him, just don't kill him yet. Not until we don't need him anymore."

This causes an involuntary shudder throughout Tailgate's body. All he can remind himself is that he trusts Fulcrum and what the technician said to him. That he _loves him_ and Tailgate needs to keep that in mind. Tailgate _does_ trust him, but it's hard to hear any of that. So he just...

He just has to believe him.

Tailwind folds his arms, peering over the shorter K-Con. Maybe Fulcrum is just a very good liar or maybe it's the reputation of the K-Class; either way, it seems like he's considering the circumstances. Keeping some sort of air of indifference, Fulcrum casually picks up another piece of metal, using it to slowly start to sharpen the shrapnel he already has.

"How far out is your ship?" Tailwind finally asks.

"Two and a half hours out." Fulcrum shrugs. "Are we going or do you want to keep talking about this?"

There's another pause of silence. A significant look is given from Tailwind as he glances to his teammates. Abruptly, Seawing shoves him forward, causing him to yelp and stumble into Fulcrum. The K-Con doesn't react, but Tailgate is burying his faceplate against Fulcrum's abdomen, trembling against him.

"A minute," Tailwind says.

There's an irritated sigh from Fulcrum. "Fine, fine."

The other Decepticons go to huddle and chat amongst themselves. Quickly, Tailgate grabs onto Fulcrum's hips once he's certain that they're looking away. While Fulcrum says absolutely nothing to him, there's a hand lightly resting on the top of his helm for a moment. Whatever the K-Con's expression is right now is a mystery to him, because Tailgate himself doesn't have the ability to look up. He doesn't feel brave at all. They're unarmed, and getting by on how well Fulcrum is fibbing. He wishes he could speak to him like they normally do and have more proper comfort, but he knows that's impossible right now.

Abruptly, Tailgate's hands are forced away by Fulcrum and he has to just accept that it's needed. His shoulders slump and the disposal unit is forced to turn around, away from the K-Con.

"All right. We'll go with you to your ship." Tailwind folds his arms. "You had me worried, actually. I couldn't believe someone from the K-Class would have been so _pathetic._ "

"The Autobots bought it, didn't they?" Fulcrum reminds. "In any case, I can lead the way back. We have what I came here for."

A large hand settles at the back of Tailgate's helm, forcing the smaller mech to turn around. "C'mon, minibot," Seawing growls at him. "We're going."

Trying to not shake too much or be repulsed by the Decepticon, Tailgate just obeys. He hopes Fulcrum knows what he's doing.

 

-=-=-

 

Misfire is both the best and the worst guard ever in the Decepticons. Truly, these individuals are deceptively cunning. In every way possible the jet finds a way to aggravate him. Everything about him just disgusts and horrifies Ultra Magnus. With Misfire climbing all over him and having no sense of personal space, he manages to get his grime all over the Autobot. That, and the talking. The talking never stops! It's utterly maddening.

Eventually, there came to a point in which Misfire just yammered, from everything irrelevant about his experiences on Cybertron prior to the war on over to describing in absurd detail about how his teammates have different kinds of snores while they recharge. While he talked on and on about little to nothing, Misfire took it upon himself to attempt to be as helpful as possible for Ultra Magnus and start to fill in the paint of where the atmosphere burned into him. Unfortunately, these Decepticons don't carry his shade at all, and instead there are lines of unmatching Decepticon purple splattered messily along his plating. 

It takes all of Ultra Magnus' willpower to not shriek in horror and fury. This is clearly a test of his patience. 

He won't let Krok or Misfire win.

After the horrifying paint job was done and he'd been left to dry, Misfire found another way to start keeping himself preoccupied. Still taking full advantage of the fact that the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord can't move, he's perched on him again. This time, with a marker in hand.

"Don't you dare draw on me," Ultra Magnus warns him.

"Oh? Or else what?" Misfire grins at him. "S'not like you can move right now."

"When I can, I'll--" Well. He can't just react violently, no matter how enraged he is with the scoundrel. No, he'll handle this properly. "I'll arrest you," Ultra Magnus promises instead.

There's a small roll of Misfire's optics at the threat. "What, on your brig?"

"Yes."

"Where I get to be fed and on a ship that won't breakdown nearly as often and stuff? Oh no, that must be awful." There's a short snort, then a bark of a laugh from Misfire. "Fulcrum looked like he did okay."

Ultra Magnus squints his optics at Misfire. "You won't escape the law."

"Doing just fine at the moment." There's a squeak of the marker's ink as Misfire starts to either draw or write inane designs on him. "So, when you can move, are you gonna hit me or something? Hm?"

"No." It's tempting, but no.

"Oh? Are you gonna shoot me?"

Less tempting. "No."

The marker leaves Magnus's plating, and his visage is filled with the curious expression of one very dirty Decepticon. "Oh, reeeeally? So you're just gonna arrest me at worst? That's really all?"

"I don't punish. I only enforce the rules." Ultra Magnus exhales very slowly.

"So what would you arrest me for? Vandalism? Boarding your ship without permission?" Misfire grins wryly. "Or being devilishly handsome?"

"That last one is hardly even a law. At any rate, you are at least at fault for the same crime as Fulcrum was."

A sigh. "Oh, hm. Right, that. Sort of figured you lot forgot about it." Misfire shrugs. "Well. Anyway, I'm famished. What about you, Ultra Radness?"

"Magnus," the Autobot quickly corrects sternly. "Why would you feed a prisoner?"

"You're not _really_ our prisoner. Are you hungry or aren't you?"

This whole situation strikes him as odd. Misfire is either a very effective guard, or a downright fool. It's hard to tell which it is, honestly; either way, Ultra Magnus can't make sense of the fact of why he'd bother to feed an Autobot. 

Still, he can't deny the fact that his tanks are dangerously low.

"If you intend on poisoning me--" Ultra Magnus starts.

"Oh, _please._ I'd be more likely to shoot you."

Considering his name, Ultra Magnus supposes that should mean that it's incredibly unlikely that any poisoning will happen.

"Then I suppose if you are offering, I will have some fuel," the Autobot says warily.

There's a definite smirk from Misfire, then a pat of his hand to Ultra Magnus's arm. With all of his might, the enforcer tries to not think about how much filth has been left behind by this rapscallion. "That wasn't so hard, now, was it?"

"Hm." Ultra Magnus narrows his optics a little more, compulsively responding with some form of manners: "Thank you."

"Eh, whatever. We need you alive, yeah?" After giving a faint shrug, Misfire hops down from the larger Cybertronian. "Just, you know -- sit tight, hm?"

Instinctively, Ultra Magnus feels wary as he watches the Decepticon leave the cargo bay. While he's still trying to struggle and determine how much Misfire is consciously doing his best to make him feel uncomfortable, there's at least a few different things that are undeniable: these are a different brand of Decepticons than Ultra Magnus has ever really dealt with. While it is true that they're keeping him alive for intentions purely to protect themselves, they aren't being particularly cruel about it either. 

They could be. They could torture him. That wouldn't have shocked him. Yet, they're being relatively harmless, all things considered. 

These aren't the Decepticons that he has fought so hard with over the thousands of years of war. The kind he has been faced with are ruthless, cold, and insane individuals. Psychopaths delusional with their beliefs and desires. There is no doubt in Ultra Magnus's mind that Krok and his crew are indeed criminals. They are lawbreakers for certain, but they are hardly on the scale as individuals like Overlord or Killmaster.

They're crooks. But they aren't the soldiers that he's battled with before. They hardly even match up with the Decepticons they had arrested on Temptoria. If Fulcrum wasn't evident of that, then clearly Misfire and Krok are.

They should still be arrested, just perhaps not as ... harshly.

Slowly, he tips his head down, peering at his own hands. Various inane scribbles have been left by Misfire; it irritates him, but there's nothing that he can do about it until he can move.

His index finger twitches.

Well. That's a start.

There's some clanging and shouting elsewhere in the ship. Ultra Magnus can't tell where it might be exactly; his first thought is perhaps Misfire isn't particularly graceful, which is believable considering his behavior. However, the more carefully he listens, the more he realizes that he recognizes the sounds of a struggle.

"Misfire?" Ultra Magnus calls out. He's not able to do much else. He can't rise to his feet to look into the matter for himself. " _Misfire!_ "

It goes quiet. That isn't good, and he has no method to be able to call for anyone.

Then, he hears it. The sound of something being dragged across the floor, metal shrieking against metal. Slowly, it gets closer and closer. Ultra Magnus scowls as he waits to see what it is. It doesn't sound good, and he expects that it won't be. That doesn't mean he has to sit helplessly in fear.

Thrown into the cargo bay is Misfire, only he's been tied up by someone. His wrists have been forced behind his back, held together with some cables, and his ankles are in much the same situation. The wings have been forced back by the same type of bonds, and Ultra Magnus can see that he's been gagged with some sort of conveyor belt tied around his mouth.

The Decepticon looks up towards Magnus, red optics wide with panic or fear. Maybe both.

"Primus, Strafe-- that's enough!"

That's voice that Ultra Magnus quickly recognizes. He looks up, watching as Chromedome stumbles into the room. Similarly, his arms have been forced behind his back, and he's being shoved inside by Strafe, who nervously clutches a gun to his chest.

"Magnus?" Chromedome looks up, visor widening.

"I-I told you! Told you I heard him," Strafe stammers out.

"What's all this?" Ultra Magnus's optics narrow further.

"I. I-I..." Very quickly, Strafe's voice degenerates into mumbling as he starts to pace. Back and forth, quickly and nervously as he cradles the gun to himself. "Why c-can't you stand up?" he finally pipes up.

Internally, Magnus is relieved that his atrocious paint job isn't mentioned. "My systems are still recovering. I can't move much. Why do you have Chromedome and Misfire tied up?"

"W-we did-- what we did. I'm still..." Anxiously, Strafe shuffles around in the cargo bay. "I don't know, if what we did-- wh-why did it happen this way?"

The string of words make no sense to him. Ultra Magnus gives a look at Chromedome, as if hoping he can translate, but the mnemosurgeon is shaking his head. Either to express that he doesn't know or simply isn't sure what to make of the babbling.

"We're Autobots! We kill 'Cons!" Strafe blurts out, in a tone that's desperate, but Magnus isn't sure where one thought ends and where another begins, or what the meaning to his words are, exactly. "Th-this isn't okay, I can't put it together!"

Trembling in fury or fear or both, Strafe is pointing his gun down at Misfire. The Decepticon's optics widen enough to practically bulge out and he wriggles, trying to get away, but Strafe slams his foot down onto his back to keep him from moving.

"Strafe," Ultra Magnus tries to not shout, but his voice is firm and he tries to assume command of the situation. "Don't shoot him. He's not your enemy."

"Decepticon! He's a-- if he's not, then what? _What is it?_ " Strafe's body trembles as if he's struggling.

"Strafe, look at me!"

There's just a steady, fearful tremor in Strafe's body. For a straight minute, Strafe does not move. He vents loudly, entire body shaking as he keeps the gun aligned to Misfire's head. Then, very slowly, Strafe steps off of Misfire and looks up to Ultra Magnus.

"You get to choose." Strafe's vents shudder. "Y-you get to choose which one!"

"Strafe--" Chromedome starts, then jerks his head back as the gun is shoved into his face.

"Autobot or Decepticon, Ultra Magnus. Wh-which one lives, and which one dies?!"

 

-=-=-

 

The walk is agonizing. Not that Tailgate has any trouble keeping up, but his mind is a whirling mess of anxiety as he's forced to pace along with the group of Decepticons. In his mind, he circles around to what Cyclonus told him some time ago. That it isn't as simple as good guys or bad guys. Fulcrum and rest of the _Weak Anthropic Principle_ crew aren't like these Decepticons; they're a bit rough around the edges, but they mean him no harm and Fulcrum... he _trusts_ Fulcrum, and especially now has no choice but to put all of his faith into him.

Tailwind and the others, though. They're different from Fulcrum and his friends. That much is clear.

Uncomfortably, Seawing's hands are constantly on him in some way. Usually his shoulders, but he feels squeezes over his upper arms too. The contact itself makes his plating crawl and he tries to not think about it, keeping his visor trained on Fulcrum's back.

"How many Autobots are you hoping you're gonna off when you jump at their ship?" Tailwind asks Fulcrum, his tone so casual that it just sounds like a normal topic for them.

"A few dozen. K-Class packs a punch." There's a small shrug. Fulcrum seems a bit distracted, and although Tailgate can only see his back he can hear him absently sharpening the piece of shrapnel he's kept with him. "Personally, I'm hoping to land right in Drift's face."

"You don't say!" Tentakil scoffs. "Damned traitor."

"Believe me, I wasn't thrilled to have to bite down and play nice for a while for those glitches."

"Frag 'em all for what they did." Seawing gives a laugh. " _Frag!_ That's right, I guess if you find the right 'Bot, they don't mind having a good frag. Isn't that right?"

Tailgate desperately wishes he could just pull away or have the courage to say something. He jerks when he feels Seawing give him a bit of a shake at the shoulder.

"Well?" There's a snort. "You liked it from the K-Con, didn't you?"

With a sigh that sounds like Fulcrum's only mildly irritated, the technician turns his head to glare at Seawing. "Would you just focus on getting back to my ship? You can do whatever you want there, but--"

"Hey, what's the hurry?" Tailwind cuts him off. "Your crew's not going anywhere without you from the sounds of it, and the Autobots are _definitely_ not budging anytime soon. They'll still be there when we're ready to go."

"Tailwind, you are officially my favorite person right now." Abruptly, Seawing shoves Tailgate forward. The disposal unit gives a terrified yelp, stumbling forward as he trips over himself, barely putting up his hands in time in order to catch himself. "Say it, minibot. Say you liked swapping paint with the K-Con."

For what feels like an awfully long time, Tailgate just stares at the ground he's been thrown to. Slowly, he gets himself back up so that he's kneeling in the dirt. He looks up at Fulcrum first, who either refuses to look at the display or is genuinely disconnected from the situation as he continues to sharpen the piece of metal. The rest of the Decepticons have varying degrees of amusement, some with snide grins and others with satisfied smirks.

Seawing grips the top of his helm and Tailgate tries to not shriek in fear. Instead, a strangled whimper comes out. "Say it," is hissed into his audial.

"I." Tailgate trembles. "I-I liked swapping paint with Fulcrum."

"Maybe that's the problem with you Autobots. You need it from a real Cybertronian." Seawing laughs, and the sound just makes Tailgate intensely uncomfortable.

"Tailwind, seriously." Fulcrum shakes his helm.

"Look, we haven't had much in the way of entertainment since the war ended. Just let him get this over with, then we'll get going again," Tailwind tells him.

"Hands and knees, _now_ ," Seawing instructs the disposal unit.

Now? Now Tailgate can't stop quaking. No, no _no no_. Do they seriously intend to hurt him? No, worse than that. They're going to let Seawing do what he wants, to--

He tries to not think about it, but the threat is hanging there.

Trying to stifle any noises of fear, Tailgate slowly sinks down so that he's on his hands and knees. He doesn't know what else to do, he really doesn't. Tailgate has no method of defending himself from larger, stronger Decepticons. Why isn't Fulcrum doing anything?! No, no he needs to trust him, he asked him if he trusted him, but nothing is happening. He jerks violently when he feels Seawing's hands claw down his sides. Finally, he gives a short shriek when his head is forced down and his aft is up in the air, then Seawing grips his hips tightly.

"C'mon, you already took it from a Decepticon. What are you shaking for? Open up already!" Seawing mocks him. "Hey, K-Con! How was it with the little 'Bot?"

Tailgate jerks his head up, his visor flashing as he watches Fulcrum. The K-Classer is still refusing to look at him; instead, he's taking his time making his approach, circling around to stand behind Seawing. Craning his neck to try to look over his shoulder, Tailgate watches as Fulcrum stands next to Seawing.

"How was it?" Fulcrum hums to himself for a moment. "Suppose I did get to know him fairly intimately. Didn't I? The things he'd say, the way he looked at me. So when we got down to business, it was definitely an experience. But there's one thing you should know about him, Seawing."

"Yeah? What's that?"

"Well." Fulcrum places a hand to Seawing's shoulder. "That Tailgate is _mine_ and I'm going to **_kill you._** "

It happens incredibly fast. The piece of shrapnel that Fulcrum has been holding onto is pressed against Seawing's throat, moving abruptly. It cuts through neck cables and tubing, slicing them open. Energon sprays out suddenly and Seawing is gasping, choking on his own spilled fuel. It splashes out across Fulcrum's midsection and onto Tailgate's back, and the disposal unit watches Seawing fall back and clutch his neck, trying to keep the energon in.

"Fragging--!" Tailwind snarls out.

Fulcrum doesn't stay still, running forward as he slams all of his body weight into one of the other Decepticons as Tailwind and Tentakil look on. There's a determined look on his face as he starts to stab down into his face and optics. "Don't you _dare_ \--" Fulcrum starts, furious and uncaring about the flecks of energon dotting his face as he stabs the Decepticon. "--touch him!"

Just as Tailwind and Tentakil start to go for Fulcrum, the K-Con stands and lets out an angry shout before he slams his foot down. The piece of shrapnel goes through the Decepticon's optic and down into his helm, undoubtedly through his brain module.

"No!" Tailgate scrambles to try to stop one of them, but Tentakil swiftly backhands him in the visor. It cracks and it _hurts_ and he cries out as he falls, his back hitting the dirt. In his bleary, painful vision, he sees Tailwind grabbing and throwing Fulcrum into the ground. As the K-Con tries to get back up, he's brutally kicked in the abdomen, sending him rolling.

"I should've have known that you were with them. Traitor," Tailwind spits. "You'd better hope that plating is going to protect you."

"Fulcrum!" Tailgate calls out, feeling his visor spark and flash in fear for the K-Con. It's probably useless but he tries to push himself to his feet. There's no way that he can do anything. He's helpless. He's helpless and stupid and he can't do anything for Fulcrum, who just did everything he could to protect both of them, but Tailgate has to try. Steeling himself, Tailgate picks up the only thing he can think of to help himself.

A very unimpressive rock.

Despite that, he throws it. Meagerly, he feels a tiny bit of pride when it hits the back of Tentakil's helm. Not that it does much other than offer a small dent and scrape of paint for its trouble, but the Decepticon is whirling around to face him now.

"Fine, then." Tentakil growls and races forward towards him. Unable to get out of the way fast enough, Tailgate yelps as his wrists are grabbed onto by him. "You want to watch while we kill him? You can _watch!_ "

" _Fulcrum!!_ " Tailgate calls out for him again, kicking at Tentakil.

There's no way for them out of this situation. They're trapped and they're going to kill Fulcrum! It's all his fault, it's--

Tailgate's vents stop suddenly as he watches a clawed hand shove its way through Tentakil's back and out his chest. The Decepticon chokes and stares down at the hand, both in confusion and in pain. Tailgate is dropped back to the ground, and he watches as Tentakil is thrown away to the side. He looks up at his savior.

"Ah--" Tailgate can't even say a single word, but he knows he needs to pour his gratitude over him later in some way. So much relief fills him to see Cyclonus here, who stands in front of Tailgate and peers down at him with a calm look. Energon drips off of his claws.

"What the hell?!" Tailwind manages out as he stares at the display, shocked to see his comrade taken out by someone else. Then he yells out, a very familiar insecticon leaping onto his face. Bob growls and gnaws on his helm, leaving Tailwind surprised and attacked by Sunstreaker's pet.

Wordlessly, Cyclonus forces Tailgate back to his feet, grabbing him by the upper arm. He leaves him there as he makes his way to Fulcrum, muttering to him, "Get up." 

"Cyclonus?" Fulcrum looks up at him, baffled. As he gradually makes his way back to onto his feet, he stumbles as Tailgate practically slams into him, throwing his arms around his midsection. There's a shuddering sigh as Fulcrum clutches him back.

While it's tempting to bury his face against Fulcrum's midsection, Tailgate turns his head as he watches in silence; Cyclonus is approaching the flailing, writhing Tailwind as the Decepticon tries to fight against Bob's maw. When Cyclonus stands in front of the injured Decepticon, Bob has enough intelligence to scramble out of the way. No words are spoken. Cyclonus simply slams his hand into Tailwind's chest, impaling him with his claws and effectively executing him.

It leaves all four of the Decepticons dead.

"I'm sorry," Fulcrum mumbles. "I'm sorry I couldn't do anything sooner."

"No. It's fine. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything else," Tailgate answers him, still trembling.

"Your visor! Are you--?" Fulcrum places his hands at both sides of Tailgate's face.

"I'm okay. It kinda stings, but that's it."

As Cyclonus approaches the both of them, Fulcrum glances at both him and the insecticon. "Not that I'm ungrateful, but... how the hell did you both find us?"

"He had your scent," Cyclonus says very simply.

"My...?" Fulcrum squints in confusion until Bob drops a straw to the ground. Apparently, Fulcrum recognizes it as he sputters. "Seriously?! You've been holding onto that all this time?"

Bob makes a purring noise, waggling his aft excitedly. Tailgate understands that body language; he wants to play.

"None of the others are with you?" Tailgate decides to ask.

"Rodimus ordered us to stand our ground while we fought the organics," Cyclonus responds.

That earns a curious look from Fulcrum. "So, you disobeyed orders."

Cyclonus says nothing.

"Well. Thank you for helping us." Fulcrum clutches Tailgate's hand. "I really don't know what we would have done if you didn't get here in time."

"You'd most likely be dead," Cyclonus informs him.

"Uh." Fulcrum jerks his head back a little at the bluntness. "Right. Um. Anyway, it'd be great if you could come back with us. My crew's ship is here. If we can repair it, we can contact the _Lost Light_ and make our way over to them."

"Lead. Then I will follow."

"Right. Okay then." Fulcrum lets out a shaky sigh, squeezing Tailgate's hand. "Onward."

 

-=-=-

 

Autobot or Decepticon. Which one lives, which one dies.

There have been a lot of situations in which Ultra Magnus has felt helpless in. It is not a sensation he imagines any have ever enjoyed, and he finds himself angry with it now. He can't do anything but watch Strafe nervously strut about, shout nonsensical words, panicking about something. As if he can't decide for himself whether to shoot Chromedome or Misfire. There's something that Ultra Magnus feels like he's missing, a part to this equation. All he can do is watch, though; he cannot react. 

It's difficult to tell what must be on Chromedome's mind as his visor widens every time the gun is directed at him. Magnus absently wonders how the both of them found their way here, more so why they are here. It doesn't make much sense, but it doesn't matter right now. What matters is trying to find a way out of this situation.

Misfire's optics only spell fear, especially when the rifle is directed at him. He jerks and his tied up wings twitch, but he isn't going anywhere. He's trapped, an effective muted hostage.

Autobot or Decepticon. For many, that would be a simple choice. Ultra Magnus works by the law, and while Misfire has no doubt broken it many times, the enforcer cannot say that he loathes him. He would not say that Misfire deserves to be killed.

His finger twitches. 

Chromedome is his crewmate. An important member. One that Ultra Magnus has sworn to protect. He can't let him die, either.

Something has compelled Strafe to behave this way. Something that has made him question this in such a paranoid method. What _is_ it? Granted, Strafe has always been a bit of a nervous wreck, but this is new. Impulsive.

"Strafe. Look at me," Ultra Magnus orders him, attempting to put patience into his voice.

"No. No, I-I can't. Just tell me! Which one! The Decepticon, right?!" Strafe's vents hiccup as he points the firearm at Misfire, who gives a muffled distressed noise. The jet looks up at Ultra Magnus hopefully; the serrated edges of the belt gagging him cut into the sides of his mouth as he tries to voice his concern.

"No. Do _not_ shoot him!"

Strafe just looks more distressed. "Y-you'd kill an Autobot over a Decepticon?"

"That's not what this is about." Ultra Magnus exhales carefully.

"But we need to choose. _You need to choose!_ "

Things used to be easier. When the war ended, the mere idea of two sides being pitted against each other no longer applied. This truth began to start to creep in for Ultra Magnus when Tailgate expressed interest in joining the Decepticons sometime ago, when he reacted because he thought of Tailgate as a Decepticon sympathizer. After the war, it's been bothering him how complex things have become.

This is complicated. He can't just choose a Decepticon to be murdered pointlessly. Especially one like Misfire where the worst he did was just irritate the hell out of him. In the end, Ultra Magnus doesn't despise him.

"I can't choose. I _won't_ choose." Ultra Magnus can't use a label of faction to identify them and leave it as that. Like it or not, they are individuals. "Misfire isn't your enemy and neither is Chromedome."

The choice seems to confound Strafe for moment. A tiny, unsure noise escapes him and he takes a step back, as if he needs to decide what to do with that decision. Another groan and Strafe says, "Fine."

Relief sinks in. Just for a short moment.

Strafe points his gun at Misfire again. "Fine, then I guess I have to--"

" _Strafe!_ " Ultra Magnus growls in warning, wishing he could move.

"To kill them both!"

There's a gunshot, but it isn't Chromedome or Misfire that have been harmed or killed. To Ultra Magnus's distress, he watches energon streak the floor and Strafe's body slump down shortly afterward, most of his helm gone. 

Walking into the cargo bay is Krok, his optics narrowed. His pacing is deadly calm and he very carefully walks over to Strafe's corpse; there's a brief tilt of Krok's head, then he nudges the body. Seemingly satisfied, Krok walks over to Misfire, starting to work off the cables that have him tied up.

"Don't fuss," Krok murmurs. "Look at me. You hurt?"

Misfire looks at his commanding officer, optics wide. Then, there's a quick shake of his head. No, not hurt.

"Good."

"You murdered him," Ultra Magnus states, trying to hold back his frustration.

"I seem to recall that I just prevented him from killing one of _my crew._ " Krok tears off the belt wrapped around Misfire's head. "And you clearly couldn't talk him out of it. He would have killed your Autobot over here."

Would Strafe have shot Chromedome too? It's hard to say. He was panicking enough that maybe that was possible, but frankly he just isn't sure. He's seen Autobots breakdown before, but this was different. Strafe was ready to shoot either of them depending on Ultra Magnus's word.

And he couldn't choose either. 

"You had no right to kill him," Magnus informs him, voice heavy with anger and uncertainty.

As Krok stands up, he peers at the enforcer with an infuriated glare. "While you're on _my ship_ , you're in no position to tell me right from wrong. My unit, my business." He looks at Misfire. "Take the Autobot up to the medbay. I want a chat with him. Keep the bonds on for now."

"Uh." Misfire steals a glance towards Ultra Magnus before giving a nod. "Right. You got it."

The jet shuffles away as he leads Chromedome out from the cargo bay. Krok peers down at the body, then snorts a little. "And I suppose you'd consider it indecent if I had his fuel siphoned."

"Of course I _would_ ," Ultra Magnus snaps at him.

Krok sighs, sounding more tired than anything else. "I suppose you wouldn't be throwing nearly as much of a fit if I'd shot a _Decepticon_ instead of an Autobot?"

Would that be true? No, certainly, he would still call Krok ruthless in this behavior, but--

"I'll let you think on that for a while." Krok slings the corpse over his shoulder. 

 

-=-=-

 

There's a part of him that's tempted to clutch Tailgate to himself somehow throughout the duration of their trek back towards the _Weak Anthropic Principle_. Things hadn't quite worked out the way Fulcrum intended; he'd hoped that he could keep the Decepticons on task to travel back, then maybe Krok and the others could shoot them. Instead, things escalated. 

And Fulcrum wears their fuel on his plating, and he doesn't regret it one bit.

Absently, he watches Tailgate scratch under Bob's chin. The behavior is a little more like him, but no doubt the disposal unit is still shaken by what happened. What _nearly_ happened. Fulcrum smiles a bit fondly as he watches him.

"I was under the impression that you'd never done much fighting in your time," Cyclonus says.

Fulcrum ducks his head a little. He still isn't sure what to think of the old warrior, but he's intensely relieved that Cyclonus had been there when he did. Even if he feels like Cyclonus is perpetually judging him. The only relief he has is that at least he's judging _everyone._

"I haven't," Fulcrum answers truthfully.

"It shows," Cyclonus mutters, "but that wasn't your first time killing."

Fulcrum frowns, trying to just focus on Tailgate giving a tired laugh as Bob playfully paws at his fingers. Something nicer to watch. More cheerful than the topic at hand. "Styx had some prison breaks. Attempted prison breaks, I should say. Even if you've never fought a single bit in your life, if I hadn't then, I'd be dead. I'm probably one of the few Decepticons that's killed other 'Cons more than Autobots."

"Hm." Whatever Cyclonus is thinking is a pure mystery to him. He's turning his gaze over to the horizon during their walk. "Despite your flawed method of attack--"

"Gee, thanks," Fulcrum grumbles.

"--you did protect him."

"I'd do anything to keep him safe," Fulcrum says firmly.

Cyclonus is turning his head to look down at Fulcrum. For a long minute, Fulcrum isn't sure why he's being stared at in that way, but eventually all Cyclonus has to say about it is, "Good. I'll remember that."

Whatever the hell that means, anyway.

Gradually, as they climb up the hill, Fulcrum finally sees the _Weak Anthropic Principle._ He gives a sigh of relief and rubs his helm. "Pit, I never thought I'd be so happy to see this piece of scrap!"

"Do you think Krok is gonna mind Cyclonus and Bob?" Tailgate wonders.

"Nah, I doubt it. I'm worried more about Spinister. I don't think he's gonna know what to make of Bob, but I think it'll be fine." Fulcrum smiles down to Tailgate. "By the way, thank you."

"Uh? What for?" Tailgate looks up at him, confused.

"You played along flawlessly. You almost had me convinced that you weren't a bomb disposal unit!"

"I... oh. Um." Tailgate wrings his hands together a little. "Fulcrum?"

"Hm?"

"We need to-- I." Tailgate lets out a nervous huff of air. "We should talk."


	8. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fulcrum ends up on the Lost Light. Tailgate ends up vouching for him. Nobody is happy about it except probably them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TITLE: Bombs Away  
> CHAPTER: Eight | Truth  
> FANDOM: Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW  
> RATING: PG-13  
> SUMMARY: Tailgate tells the truth. So does Chromedome.  
> NOTES: Chapter beta'd and edited by Obfuscobble. Thank you immensely for all your help.

Of all people, he should have told Fulcrum, but he didn't. It just never crossed his mind until now, not until they were surrounded by those Decepticons.

Maybe he should have waited for when the situation wasn't as tense as it just had been, maybe if they had a better moment alone, or a better way to build up to this, but the thing is? The thing is that Tailgate just couldn't hold it back any further. He gets the feeling that Krok knew, that's what he was getting at, and he was trying to give Tailgate the chance to tell the truth. It's his own fault that it's turned out like this, that he's convinced everyone -- even someone he cares so much about -- of a lie.

So when he had pulled Fulcrum aside after asking Cyclonus to give them some privacy, well...

Well, it didn't work out as intended.

Tailgate had hoped that Fulcrum, who has been patient and caring and even _killing_ to protect him, would understand.

"Fulcrum, please--" Technically, he probably could transform to catch up with the K-Con, but just runs after him. "Let me explain!"

"You just did!" Fulcrum snaps at him.

" _Please wait!_ "

There's no pause in Fulcrum's stride as he makes his way back to the _Weak Anthropic Principle_. Not far behind, Cyclonus is keeping up effortlessly with Bob trailing along. There's a bit of a panic in Tailgate as he hopes that Cyclonus just doesn't care about the conversation as he attempts to reach out to Fulcrum, who has been reacting in uncharacteristic anger. Ultimately, try as much as Tailgate does, he can't keep up; eventually, just stops outside of the ship, watching Fulcrum from a distance.

Waiting just outside of the Scavengers' ship is Crankcase, who has various scrap pieces stored under his arm. When he spots Fulcrum, he asks, "Did you find the--"

"Yes," Fulcrum grumbles, shoving the device into the mechanic's hands and just keeps going.

"Hey!" Crankcase shouts after him, irritable. "Who the hell are these scraplets and whose energon is all over you?!"

"Not my problem!" Fulcrum yells back, practically stomping into the ship.

Crankcase snorts, peering after the other Decepticon. "What crawled up his exhaust port?"

"Um." Tailgate's hands fidget together. "I'm sorry. That's my fault."

"Great, I really don't feel like being in the middle of some _lover's spat_ while we're trying to get back in the air." Crankcase peers at Cyclonus, then looks down at the Insecticon. "What the Pit is that?"

"It's Bob?" Tailgate offers helpfully. He's certain that someone tried to explain exactly what an Insecticon was to him once, but he isn't really sure where to begin.

Fortunately, he supposes it doesn't matter. Not when he hears Fulcrum shout from the inside of the _Weak Anthropic Principle_ :

" ** _What the hell is going on in here?_** "

Despite the complications of things right now, Tailgate doesn't hesitate to run by Crankcase, listening to him complain and grumble as the disposal unit works his way inside the ship. It takes him a moment before he's able to determine that Fulcrum is down in the cargo bay, from the way he's talking _very loudly_ with Krok.

"Would somebody mind telling me what's with the energon and-- _bits_ on the floor?"

"Settle your aft down. You look like you have a bit of explaining to do yourself."

"I'm sorry, I just got done stabbing the hell out of a couple of other Decepticons! Do you want a report, _sir?_ "

Tailgate makes his way down the stairs before he stops at the bottom step. In the corner of the room is an awake Ultra Magnus, his blue optics peering down almost distantly. It's kind of a strange look on his face, as if he's more thoughtful than he is looking on in entire disapproval of the matter. Splattered across the floor is energon, along with... parts. Some internal organs, maybe; Tailgate isn't a doctor, so it's hard for him to tell.

Fulcrum has his arms crossed, looking back at Krok in bitter annoyance as they snap at each other. Although he hasn't been among the crew for long, Tailgate gets the feeling that this isn't normal for the two of them to be arguing. Anxiously, he watches, unsure if it's really his place to say anything.

"Matter of fact," Krok says, voice low with a growl, "I do. So why don't you get to my office and do that?"

"Why don't you tell me what the hell is going on here? When did Ultra Magnus wake up?"

Finally having enough, Krok grabs Fulcrum by the shoulder and shoves him back against a crate, red optics blazing with tested patience. A tiny gasp is stolen from Tailgate and he takes a step forward, wondering if he should step in. No more seems to be done other than that, though, as the historian speaks carefully and sternly, "I gave you an order, soldier. Follow it. Understood?"

The anger in Fulcrum's face doesn't seem to have quite faded, but the expression softens in a way that might imply he realizes he's pushed it too far. "Yes sir," he responds quietly. "Sorry, sir."

Silence hangs in the air briefly as Krok's optics narrow slightly. Eventually, he steps away and allows Fulcrum to get back onto his feet. For a split second, Fulcrum and Tailgate's optics lock. The bitterness is gone in that second, and Fulcrum just looks generally upset before the anger sets in again and he quickly walks away, jerking his head to the side so their gaze is broken.

Tailgate feels his spark sink.

"Hm," he hears Krok grunt, as if curious. "Tailgate. I'd prefer if you also debriefed me on the situation as well."

"He's an Autobot," Ultra Magnus reminds him.

There's a sigh from Krok's vents as he turns his head to glance at the enforcer. "Not the way I understand it. In any case, I'm not ordering him."

"It's okay, Ultra Magnus," Tailgate assures. "I guess I kinda owe you a report, too. Is here okay?"

"Might as well," Krok says, placing a hand firmly to Tailgate's shoulder. "I'll do my best to explain what's going on as well."

 

-=-=-

 

In most cases, the rest of the crew can assist in basic patch-up jobs. Hell, even Misfire can settle down and assist, but it feels like they're spread too thin with what a stupid situation they're caught up. Crankcase grumbles and digs his hands into the control panel, shoving wiring aside in irritation as he works to repair. Usually, he can do so without much distraction, but it's a bit difficult when there's some _guy_ standing behind him, looming with his arms folded.

Crankcase whirls his head around to glare at Cyclonus. "Would you _mind_ brooding elsewhere?"

Cyclonus lets out a steady vent of air. "This ship is an embarrassment."

"Don't I know it," Crankcase complains. "But you know what? It's not like we got much else to work with and your standing there and being generally _unhelpful_ in getting this repaired isn't enhancing my ability to get this done any faster."

There's a pause as Cyclonus narrows his optics and peers over the bridge of the ship before snorting faintly. "You all intend to reach the _Lost Light_ in this vessel."

"Got it in one, Pointy." Crankcase slams a piece of plating back into place before dusting off his filthy hands. "What about it?"

"It's barely holding together. Why don't any of you just transform and travel there, just as I had?"

Crankcase lets out a sharp laugh. "Oh Pit. Oh _Primus_ , golly why did we _never_ consider that? Look, you're new here, so I'll let you in on a secret. I'm sure you already know Fulcrum's alt-mode is one of the worst. Though I suppose we could just, you know, roll him along. That still leaves Krok. Surprise! He's a monoformer, so zero alt-mode for him. Suppose Grimlock can stomp pretty fast in that weird beast mode he has. Also, I'm pretty fragging sure that Ultra Magnus is still a cripple. So, sorry to say but this piece of scrap is going to be our best bet."

There's another moment of silence before Cyclonus turns his head to look out a window. All he says is, "Ah."

The door to Krok's office opens and Fulcrum steps out, still looking upset for who knows _what_ reason. Immediately, Crankcase calls out to him, "Hey! Are you gonna help finish up repairs or what?"

"Leave me alone," Fulcrum grumbles, turning away sharply as he heads down the hallway.

"I'm getting really sick of his attitude," Crankcase grates out. "What the hell did Tailgate even say to him?"

Cyclonus shrugs. "They spoke privately. I do not know."

"Whatever. I'm not putting up with this glitchy behavior any longer." Crankcase huffs as he marches after Fulcrum.

Cyclonus watches him walk away, not budging from his spot. The pair of Decepticons both appear to leave the ship as Crankcase works to catch up with Fulcrum. It'll work best, no doubt, if this is resolved amongst a unit already familiar with each other. There isn't a need to step in.

He can hear a couple of voices crawling from the cargo bay. Tailgate and someone else.

"Krok, um. Sir?"

"Tailgate."

"You knew who I was all this time, didn't you?"

"Not quite true. But I knew who you weren't. I don't particularly care what your origins really are, but I don't think deception is terribly conducive for a relationship with one of my unit. You told Fulcrum?"

"I-- yes. Maybe not at the best of times..."

"Hm. I'm not the judge of that. But it's good that you did."

The pair of them finally become visible, Tailgate's shorter form directly behind Krok. There's a pause as the captain of the _Weak Anthropic Principle_ peers at Cyclonus, then he turns his head to address Tailgate. "Might be best if you find Misfire and see if he needs any assistance. He should be in the medbay with Spinister."

"Okay." Tailgate looks towards Cyclonus, his visor wide and glowing before he takes off in a different direction.

Carefully, Krok approaches Cyclonus, a hint of both weariness and wariness in his body language. It's undoubtedly been a troubling time, yet he carries on. Cyclonus makes note of that. Krok lifts his chin up and narrows his optics. "Figure you and I should have a chat, Cyclonus."

There's a faint tilt of Cyclonus's helm, nothing more.

"Got somebody else on this ship. One of your crew. Had him shoved into the brig." Krok makes a vague motion for him to follow as they head down another hall in the humbly sized ship. "I take it you know Chromedome?"

Cyclonus nods.

"Did you know he came out this way?"

Another nod.

"Hm. But you weren't interested in what he was doing."

A shake. No, Cyclonus hadn't been at the time.

"Was this other Autobot with him... ah, what was his name. Stroofs? Strife? No, it was Strafe?"

A confirming nod.

"Did you see anything strange with them?"

Cyclonus frowns a little more than usual. "They had their goal. I had mine. I didn't care what it was for them. Eventually, our paths went different ways."

Krok rubs his chin in thought. "What did you come out here to do?"

"I wanted to know if Tailgate and Fulcrum were alive," Cyclonus says bluntly.

"Well. Mission accomplished, then." Krok doesn't stop walking, but he does address Cyclonus firmly with, "Thank you for protecting them."

"Mm." Cyclonus's optics narrow faintly.

Nothing more is added to that particular topic, thankfully. Krok appears to be satisfied enough with that, in any case. "What can you tell me about Strafe?"

"Nervous. Anxious." Cyclonus speaks with underwhelming indifference. "Paranoid. Had a stammer. There are many who don't seem to know what to do with themselves in this post-war world. Strafe is one of them."

"Mm-hmm." Krok nods. "I see. What's the status of the _Lost Light_?"

"The battle was long, but I'm not concerned." Cyclonus shrugs. "I would not have left if it didn't seem like they couldn't handle it."

They continue down into the bowels of the _Weak Anthropic Principle_. This crew and the ship itself seem to be quite the opposite of the _Lost Light_ ; while in general Cyclonus feels like they're a pathetic bunch, there is something else to be appreciated.

It's as Krok says; when they reach the humbly sized brig, Chromedome is sitting with a hunch, cramped in his cell. He glances up, visor brightening at the sight of both the Decepticon commanding officer and the tall warrior following.

"You have a lot of nerve showing your face to me," Chromedome says, tone low as he addresses Krok.

That earns a bark of laughter from the historian. "Could say the same to you, Autobot. What the hell were you doing on my ship?"

Chromedome stiffens up. "That's complicated."

"Really? Then do me a favor and make it less complex." Krok leans in, peering at the mnemosurgeon. "You injected Fulcrum. You assaulted one of _mine_ while he was already your prisoner. At worst, we've defended ourselves. With what little supplies we do have, we repaired your second-in-command. Then you decide to show up with your friend, nearly getting yourself killed along with Misfire. So please do me a favor and spit it out before I tell Spinister to take you apart."

There's a lengthy pause before Chromedome looks down at the palm of his hand. Slowly, his needles emerge from his fingertips. "I didn't come here looking for a fight."

"Then I'm awful curious what you did come for."

Another bout of silence fills the brig before Chromedome turns his head up, gaze locked with Krok's. "I was wrong. What I did to Fulcrum was wrong, and-- look, I'm not going to ask for forgiveness. I can't. But I wanted to take it back. I could... I don't know, I could take it away from him. But I didn't come here looking to cause harm. What happened with Strafe, I didn't expect. He lost it. Forcing him to help me before, maybe that's what pushed him over. Or maybe it was my regret. I don't know. Whatever went through his mind, I'm not entirely sure, but it's not what I wanted."

"And I didn't kill him for kicks," Krok informs him flatly. "You're a fool and I have half a mind to kill you for what you did. Luckily for you, you'll live long enough so I can dump your aft back to your Autobots."

The Decepticon commander turns away, seething a bit. "I'll have someone bring you fuel momentarily. For now, get comfortable, _Chromedome._ "

Wordlessly, Cyclonus follows. The immediate situation isn't his interest, but he can't remain entirely uninvolved. Cooperation is better than watching from the outside. It seems that Krok values his input as well.

He admits to himself that's a new aspect to get used to.

"I suppose killing Strafe will make matters tense between this crew and yours," Krok thinks out loud.

"Most likely." Cyclonus folds his arms behind himself.

Krok vents out heavily. "Hm. Thank you."

"For?"

"The quick, simple honesty." Krok shakes his head. "That's a refreshing characteristic from your unit."

 

-=-=-

 

Distantly, Ultra Magnus watches Spinister work in the cargo bay. Their incredibly unusual surgeon doesn't seem put-off by the remains of the brain module and helm on the floor. Not in the least. Instead, he's sweeping up the bits, shoving them into a box to undoubtedly be disposed of later. Spinister is dusting off his hands and peering around the cargo bay before settling his optics on Ultra Magnus.

"Don't look at me like that," the medic snaps a little. "I can't shoot you, so just don't look at me."

Of all the things to complain about. Still, Ultra Magnus isn't about to fuss over it. Reluctantly, he turns his head away.

Seemingly satisfied, Spinister heads off back into the main interior of the ship, off to whatever other duty he has lined up. It leaves Ultra Magnus to sit and consider more of his thoughts.

He isn't sure what to think of Tailgate's report. Apparently, he and Fulcrum had run into some trouble on their way back. On one hand, there's some disapproval for the method that Fulcrum had taken. It put Tailgate directly in danger, after all. On the other hand, he knows that the K-Con isn't much of a fighter; from the sounds of it, even ignoring as much of Tailgate's bias as he could, he did everything possible to use quick thinking and deception to protect themselves. Reluctantly, he has to commend him for that.

No, he still doesn't like the fact that Tailgate and Fulcrum are close, but he can't do anything about that. It's not in his control.

There's a lot of complexeties with these Decepticons, and he's not enjoying it. They should just be criminals to be arrested, but it goes further than that.

Ultra Magnus sighs and leans his head back against the wall.

"Hey, who's hungry? You are! A bit overdue, but here it is."

There's a familiar voice. There's a weary look given to Misfire as the energetic jet comes right over to Ultra Magnus, carrying a glass of energon.

Yet, it only earns a frown from Ultra Magnus. "Was that siphoned from Strafe?"

Wings twitch, then droop a little. "Well... no. Not this batch."

"Was it siphoned from some other corpse?"

Misfire shrugs. "A body or an engine or something. Filtered and then re-filtered some more. I try to make it taste like a normal ration, but--"

"I don't want it." Ultra Magnus narrows his optics. "I will _not_ drink from a dead body."

There's an unusual moment of silence from Misfire before he casually walks closer in order to sit down next to the enforcer. The glass is carefully placed onto the floor. After a minute, Misfire scoots close enough to Magnus so that their plating touches.

"I know it breaks the law an' all, but y'know, out in space when the rest of the universe has forgotten about you? Well, let's just say that you learn to let go of a few things and try to make the best of it around you." Misfire peers up at Ultra Magnus. "You're a smart guy. What do you think this ship is made out of?"

"I... would say it was made up of other ships. Put together from a little bit of everything."

"Yep." Misfire peers down at the glass of energon. "And when we ran out of rations, we had to figure out what to do next. So I got used to siphoning dead bodies. It was a waste otherwise, you know? I mean, I'd definitely jump at the chance to drink normal fuel. Don't get me wrong. But it's not like we have much choice. We aren't like you Autobots. Get me?"

Ultra Magnus's optics are drawn back down to the glass of energon. Maybe it's a mix of engine fuel and the remains of a corpse. Who knows? Misfire didn't. Maybe they stopped caring, or maybe they still cared but ended up siphoning bodies anyway because they literally had no other choice. Admittedly, Magnus isn't sure what that life is like. What it's like to be so starved that you just drink what's around you. 

Scavengers indeed.

"Thanks, by the way. You know, for standing up for me before," Misfire adds quietly.

"You don't deserve to die," Ultra Magnus says sternly.

Misfire smiles crookedly. "If that isn't hell of a thing! Ultra Magnus, saying that me, Misfire, doesn't deserve to die. That's touching, truly is."

"You're all not... exactly what I was expecting. I still don't know what to think about what Krok did," Ultra Magnus admits. "Though I suppose you don't think he did the wrong thing, do you?"

"Nope."

"Hm." Magnus's optics dim and he peers down at where the remains of Strafe were. It upsets him that he couldn't talk Strafe down. He isn't sure that he could ever agree that Krok did the right thing, that there must have been some way to stop Strafe from breaking down and trying to shoot them. It makes him think, briefly, to Red Alert, how he chose to try to commit suicide, unable to live in this post-war world.

Maybe something similar happened with Strafe. It's hard to say. They'll never know now.

"How do you live in such complex conditions?" Ultra Magnus finally asks. "If you can't rely on the law."

"Simple enough, isn't it? I mean, yeah, our ship is a pile of scrap and all. Plus we don't have hell of a lot, but I'm pretty okay with that. Krok usually tells us what to do, but usually we can come up with something that evens us all out."

So they rely on each other. Well, that seems natural, but at the same time, that feels bleak to Ultra Magnus. He couldn't live without the rules he enforces. It's his life. What else could he ever do? Could he just put blind faith into his crew like that? He _cares_ about them, of course, but rest his confidence in them instead of what he enforces...

Ultra Magnus could never do that.

There's a small struggle, but eventually, he places his hand to Misfire's shoulder. "...How does that energon taste?"

"I dunno." Misfire picks up the glass. "But if you want, we can share. It probably tastes horrible, to be totally honest!"

Why does he need to say that so cheerfully? Ultra Magnus gives a tired sigh. "All right. You'll, ah. Have to help me, though."

"Oh, no worries, big guy. That's why I brought a straw."

 

-=-=-

 

It's not sulking. Not at all.

Fulcrum is certainly sitting on the top of the crashed _Weak Anthropic Principle_ with his legs pulled up to himself, staring bitterly out to the horizon and feeling exhausted and angry at everything and frustrated. He is most definitely flicking a straw a few feet away from himself and absently watching Bob skitter away to chase after it, and he is indeed sighing and huffing and feeling distressed and maybe, just maybe, he might be _brooding_.

In no way is he sulking, though.

The report was finished and left on Krok's desk, leading to Fulcrum leaving the commanding officer's office in order to properly get away from everything. He has no idea what's happened on this ship, and he's not sure what to make of everything, considering how things have panned out. Right now, he's just infuriated and he really wishes--

" ** _HEY!_** "

\--that everyone would leave him alone.

Bob perks up, then skitters away, no doubt to wiggle into a ventilation shaft and find his way back into the ship. With a frown, Fulcrum lifts his head and sees Crankcase approaching him; somehow the pilot looks angrier than usual.

"What the _Pit_ is your major malfunction?" Crankcase seethes, immediately reaching down and grabbing Fulcrum by the upper arm.

"Let go," Fulcrum growls, trying to yank free.

"Not until you tell me what the hell your problem is! We're stretched thin as it is and we need to get this piece of scrap back in the air, and all you're doing is sulking!"

" _I wasn't sulking!_ "

Crankcase snorts. "Whatever you wanna call it. Spit it out already; what's the deal?"

Stubbornly, Fulcrum remains silent, just quietly glaring back at Crankcase.

"I fraggin' _swear_ ," Crankcase grumbles, "I'm already sick of seeing Tailgate mope around, but at least _he's_ helping. You? You're being a big waste of metal right now."

"He lied to me! Okay? He lied!"

"Feh. Well, in that case."

Crankcase glares at Fulcrum full on with a narrowed gaze from his visor. It's in that moment, very quickly, that Fulcrum feels like that perhaps he said the wrong thing, because there's one pissed off part-time mechanic, part-time pilot, full-time grump who immediately punches him in the face. There's a surprised yelp from the technician as he falls back onto his rear, landing against the plating of the ship. 

Wincing, Fulcrum's fingertips touch the stinging area where he'd been hit. "What was that for?!"

"For being a pain and being a ridiculous hypocrite," Crankcase snaps at him. "You're a Decepticon. How many times have you lied to someone? How many times have you lied to save your own aft, eh? Even to us."

That earns a startled look from Fulcrum, then he glances away from Crankcase's gaze, although he sure as hell can still practically feel the heat of his fury.

"Tell me something, Fulcrum. Did his lie get anyone _killed?_ "

Oh, that's hitting low, but it doesn't make it untrue. Fulcrum winces and shakes his head silently. No. As far as he knows, it didn't.

A little more lightly, Crankcase asks him, "And whatever dumb thing he lied about, does it change anything about him that you liked already?"

There's a brief pause as Fulcrum considers that. No. No, he supposes it doesn't. Fulcrum's come around to love Tailgate not for his history, but because he likes him for who he is. What kind of person he is. Neither of them are perfect, far from it, but that never mattered. So, no, the lie that Tailgate had told doesn't change the reasons why he cares for the disposal unit. 

It doesn't really change anything, actually.

"No," Fulcrum answers quietly.

Crankcase hauls him to his feet. "Then go make up with the little guy and get back to work already."

"I, uh. I'll do that." Guilt settles in next to the lingering pain in his face. Fulcrum rubs the back of his helm. "Um. Thanks for getting me back to my senses."

There's an irritated sigh before Crankcase shrugs. "Whatever. Go do what you have to do already. I'm not really into putting up with drama."

"Right. Still, I-- sorry." Fulcrum gives him a brief sheepish look before he heads back inside of the ship.

Not to say that he isn't still sore about what happened, but it's not like Fulcrum found out the truth by accident. He found out because Tailgate decided it was worth telling the truth. It didn't put anyone in danger, and Tailgate-- _Tailgate_ trusted him to take it well. All Fulcrum did was throw it back into his face. There's no one to blame for this reaction than himself.

He really truly feels like the biggest idiot.

It doesn't take much poking around to find Tailgate, fortunately. The _Weak Anthropic Principle_ is not very large and he can hear Tailgate and Spinister talking in the medbay as the surgeon gives him directions on where things ought to be sorted. No doubt the area needs some tidying up after the crash.

Warily, Fulcrum peers inside. "Um, Spin?"

The large medic turns his head and peers at Fulcrum while Tailgate looks in the technician's direction with a hint of sadness, pinging his guilt meter really damn bad.

"Mind if I borrow Tailgate?"

Spinister shrugs. "Sure, just make sure he can walk after."

Fulcrum sputters and pinches the bridge of his nose. " _Spin._ "

"What? I mean, it's good practice and stuff to make sure that you guys aren't pushin' it or anything."

"Tailgatec'monlet'sgoplease." Fulcrum motions for him, trying his best to not feel embarrassed at the topic that his crewmate is hinting at.

The disposal unit waves at Spinister as he steps out, and Fulcrum notices that the surgeon waves back. It's a small thing, but he's glad that Tailgate's been settling in so well into the ship and amongst the others. As Tailgate steps into the hallway, his hand immediately lifts up to grab onto Fulcrum's, but stops about midway. There's an uncertain look from Tailgate.

"Sorry," Tailgate mumbles.

"No. No, I'm sorry." Fulcrum takes his hand and offers a tiny smile. "Let's go talk, okay?"

When Fulcrum holds on tight, the disposal unit seems to relax a little more, becoming more willing to follow. Relieved at his willingness, the K-Con takes lead, guiding him away down the hall. It's familiar enough no doubt to the smaller mech as they eventually arrive to Fulcrum's room.

It's not a place of pride for him, but it's his. It's better than a cell of any kind, even if its dingy, dirty, and not much to speak of. 

Fulcrum shuts the door behind him and he pauses, staring down at himself. Ah, right. He still has someone else's energon splattered all over his plating.

"Not really presentable right now, am I?" he mutters.

"I can help clean it off," Tailgate offers, eagerness in his tone.

There's a pause, then Fulcrum turns to reach under his berth. "Maybe a hand wouldn't be too bad. I, uh-- that's not why I asked for you, though."

"You wanted to talk."

"Yeah. About that." A rag and some cleaner are snagged, and Fulcrum proceeds to spritz down his plating to try to scrub the mess off. "Look, about your explanation--"

"I'm sorry," Tailgate says again, for what feels like the millionth time.

Guiltily, Fulcrum looks at him, then shakes his head. "I know. Look, I don't care who you were years and years ago. Whether you really were part of Nova Prime's crew or if you were just some sluicer, waste disposal unit, or whatever. That's... that's not why I care about you, and telling me the truth didn't suddenly make me stop feeling anything about you." There's a pause as he grunts, trying to use the rag to scrape off the dried splash of energon on his chest. "I was a jerk for acting the way I did. Sure, I wish you told me sooner, but that doesn't give me a right to be like that. So, _I'm_ sorry. Unbelievably sorry." He stops scrubbing long enough to make sure he has his optics locked with Tailgate's. "Would you forgive me?"

There's a moment of silence as Tailgate approaches him, gently taking the rag away from Fulcrum's hand. A palm is held out, a silent request for the cleaner. When Fulcrum hands it over wordlessly, Tailgate sprays down the spot again, and patiently takes to wiping him down.

"Of course I do," Tailgate says softly. "Do you-- do you still love me? Like you said?"

Fulcrum's hand holds onto the smaller mech's wrist, pausing the gentle scrubbing. "Tailgate, that hasn't changed. When I said it, I meant it. I still do. I love you, okay?"

"I, um." A tiny tremor passes through Tailgate's body. "I love you too."

It's kind of silly, but hearing Tailgate say those words warms his spark and Fulcrum smiles more easily. After releasing the other's wrist, he leans down and rubs his forehead lightly against Tailgate's. "Are we good?"

"Yeah. We're good." Tailgate pauses, then scoots himself up to climb into the other's lap. "This okay?"

"More than okay. Can't cuddle forever, though; there's way too much going on."

"Darn," Tailgate says flatly. "It's like there's a big dumb fight between my crew and those organics. Some stupid stuff happened here, too, basically."

Fulcrum grumbles, "Krok hasn't really said much to me."

Before going into the explanation, Tailgate nuzzles up under the Decepticon's chin. The usually bright blue visor dims and he sighs as he gets comfortable, still wiping off the last bits of another's fuel. "Krok told me that Strafe and Chromedome showed up, but Strafe went crazy or something. He, um. He had to shoot him so that Strafe wouldn't shoot anyone."

"I bet Magnus loved that," Fulcrum comments quietly, gently taking the rag from Tailgate's fingers and setting it aside. It isn't a perfect clean up job, but it's better than nothing. "Thank you," he says appreciatively before he jerks his head in realization. "Wait, Chromedome's here?"

"Yeah. I haven't seen him yet." Tailgate places his hand against Fulcrum's chest. "I don't know why he's here, but Krok wanted to talk to him first."

"Well." Fulcrum lowers his head. "I'm not terribly excited to have him on board, but I get the feeling I should talk to him, too."

"You don't have to."

"Maybe not, but I at least want to know _why_ he injected me."

The disposal unit sighs and leans his head against the other's chest. "Well, I'll go with you if you plan on talking to him."

"Thanks. I know I'm gonna need you there." Fulcrum cracks a smile. "I wouldn't feel nearly as brave."

 

-=-=-

 

This is incredibly uncomfortable.

Never before has Ultra Magnus wanted to move so much. Before, Misfire had purely been somewhat obnoxious and irritating, urging the desire to get up and walk away. However, this is a whole other level. This is him being forced to sit, wait, and recover as his optics are locked with a pair of dimly glowing reds. What disturbs him is the way that Grimlock doesn't seem to recognize him.

In one of the many bouts of Misfire's running mouth, he'd mentioned that they found Grimlock, that he was -- in the jet's own words -- stupid as hell now and basically their big dumb pet. It's concerning to him; Grimlock was rebellious, violent, and dangerous, but he was also intelligent and surrendered himself to let the other Dynobots go free, basically. Now, what whatever happened at Garrus-9, it has perhaps affected him horribly to the point of this.

Sitting and staring and barely saying a word.

Quietly, Ultra Magnus knows he's feeling the familiar weight of guilt boiling up inside of him. With what happened to Fortress Maximus, many other Autobots he knew, and being faced with Grimlock unsettles him. Worse, because he arrested him.

"Grimlock?" he offers.

The Dynobot's chin tilts up and he gives a low growl. "Hmm? Mmm. Me Grimlock."

The incorrect grammar makes him want to wince.

Curiously wandering into the room is the recognizable pet of Sunstreaker's; Bob gives an inquisitive noise, peering around in the cargo bay. At the new approach, Grimlock turns his head, grunting. Then, his optics narrow.

When Grimlock starts to transform, that's when he begins to worry. This doesn't seem like it's going to be good.

"Grimlock!" Ultra Magnus shouts, unable to do much more than lift a hand.

With a growl in his engines, Grimlock turns around in his reptilian mode and stomps towards Bob. In turn, the Insecticon's optics brighten and his rear wiggles a bit.

What at first seems like a horrible confrontation of two simple-minded Cybertronians quickly becomes... _not._ Grimlock stops just in front of Bob, leaning down to sniff and nudge with his snout. Taking to the behavior quite well, it seems, Bob purrs and nuzzles up and waggles his entire body curiously. Gradually, Grimlock's tail starts to swing back and forth.

There's a steady vent from Ultra Magnus's vents. He's left to watch the two, but at least it doesn't seem like yet another disaster is about to unfold in front of him.

Not at the moment, anyway.

 

-=-=-

 

For all that both of them would undoubtedly prefer to be wrapped up in each other and ignore the rest of the universe for a few minutes, ultimately Tailgate and Fulcrum know better. Fulcrum isn't thrilled to confront Chromedome, even if the mnemosurgeon is locked away in their humble brig and Tailgate will be there for company; it means actually being forced to face the situation he'd been in and accepting that someone else has completely invaded his memories, both horrible and utterly wonderful. Chromedome _definitely_ knows how fond he is of Tailgate. All major memories were, after all, pulled to the surface and it felt like he experienced everything in one forceful swoop. Everything painful and pleasurable all at once.

He has to accept that. Both of them do.

It's with great reluctance that Fulcrum assists in getting Tailgate off of his lap so that they can begin their trek down the hallway to get to the brig. With ease, their hands hold each other, perfectly comfortable once more.

After entering the brig, there's the briefest moment in which his optics lock onto Chromedome's. The Autobot looks surprised at having visitors, and further shocked to see that it's Fulcrum; in turn, the Decepticon turns his head aside sharply and gains an awful sensation in his tanks. It's tempting to turn away and run.

When Tailgate squeezes his hand, he refrains from submitting himself to the impulse.

"Hey," Fulcrum starts off awkwardly.

That seems to earn a puzzled look from Chromedome before he reluctantly replies with, "Uh. Hey?"

"I-- I guess. We should talk."

"Okay?" The mnemosurgeon pauses, then admits, "Frankly, I'm surprised you're here."

"So am I," Fulcrum mutters, clutching Tailgate's hand for dear life. "But you owe me some answers."

The silence isn't helpful, but at least it doesn't appear to mean that Chromedome necessarily disagees. That's somewhat relieving.

"Why? Why did you--" At a loss for words, Fulcrum gestures vaguely to the back of his neck. " _You know._ With the needles."

"I didn't trust you," Chromedome says bluntly. "When I heard about the movie night you had with Rewind, I... panicked. I reacted worse when I heard about you and Tailgate." That earns a shy glance from Fulcrum, but Tailgate doesn't even flinch. "I wanted to know your real intentions. I thought you were using everyone. You're-- you're K-Class. You're a Decepticon." The way Chromedome says it seems to imply that's all he needs to make his case, but he pauses, seeming to realize what it implies. "Before Ultra Magnus arrested you and you were put into community service, we ran into some Decepticons. Rewind nearly died because of an explosion. It was a powerful bomb. With that in mind..."

With that in mind, it makes a little bit of sense that Chromedome might not react well to a Decepticon who turns _into_ a bomb. Not that Fulcrum pardons the behavior, but he understands a bit.

"So you were trying to find out what horrible, devious thing he was up to," Tailgate says flatly, his tone suggesting he's not impressed with his friend's behavior.

"Tailgate," Chromedome starts, leaning closer to the bars. "Fulcrum. Both of you. What would you do for each other?"

"Do?" Tailgate looks up at Fulcrum.

The K-Con just narrows his optics and says, "I'd do anything to protect him." Hell, he already killed other Decepticons specifically to protect Tailgate!

"That's how I felt," Chromedome elaborates. "I wasn't thinking as clearly as I should have, but I wanted to make sure nothing would happen to Rewind."

Ultimately, because Chromedome would do anything to protect him. It makes sense and Fulcrum is still furious and fearful of him, but he _gets it._

"It was still dumb," Tailgate mutters quietly.

Fulcrum glances down to him before looking back over to Chromedome. "Why the hell did you come here with Strafe?"

"I wanted..." Chromedome briefly glances down at the floor. "I wanted to offer to take the memory away. I didn't expect things to get out of hand with Strafe."

There's a slow shake of Fulcrum's head. "Would have turned you down, anyway. I'm not interested in removing your fragging mistake from my head, just because you can't deal with what you did."

"That's not--"

"How the hell is it _not?_ You were in my head. You saw-- _everything!_ I hate it, but I'm not going to let you pretend it never happened." There's a slump of Fulcrum's shoulders. "I know why you did what you did. I don't forgive you and I don't think I should forget it, but I understand. I can't just remove the memory because it's convenient. There's a lot I have to live with, and we're all going to be stuck with this."

Silence hangs in the air for a moment. Honestly, Fulcrum wonders if Chromedome thought he'd accept, that he'd opt to take away the memories. Maybe before he met Krok and the others, maybe then he'd have accepted; a time before he got a little braver. Fulcrum still loathes the fact that someone else has been in his head and experienced so many things that are personal, but he knows he shouldn't run away from the fact that it happened. Neither should Chromedome.

In some horrible satisfaction, Fulcrum hopes he feels guilty.

"What'll you tell Rewind? If you see him again," Chromedome cautiously asks.

"I'll tell him to ask you. Then it's up to you if you want to be truthful." Fulcrum turns his attention back to Tailgate. "The way I look at it, the person you should be most honest with is the person you care about most. Otherwise..."

"It gets complicated," Tailgate agrees quietly. Immediately, Fulcrum squeezes his hand, hoping to chase away any lingering regrets.

"You know, what you _can_ do for me is help make sure relations go as smooth as possible between my crew and yours." Fulcrum rubs the back of his helm. "After what happened with Strafe, it's going to be hard."

"That's putting it lightly." Eventually, Chromedome shrugs helplessly and stands up as much as he can in the cramped cell. "I'll do what I can. Any chance you can get me out of here?"

"That's up to Krok." Briefly, Fulcrum pauses before he says, "I don't know if I can forgive you, Chromedome. But I heard what you said. What you meant. For what it's worth."

"I'm still mad," Tailgate grumbles a little.

It's a quick, dumb thought to himself, but Fulcrum can't help but think the disposal unit is kind of adorable with how upset he is.

"We'll be back," Fulcrum promises Chromedome. "Just sit tight for now."

Both K-Classer and waste disposal unit leave the brig, exiting out into the upper hallway of the _Weak Anthropic Principle_. As soon as they leave, Fulcrum lets out a nervous breath through his vents, rubbing his forehead.

That had been stressful, more than he cares to admit. Confrontations aren't typical for him, but they sure as hell seem to be happening more as of late. Still, he sincerely glad to have Tailgate with him. That probably wouldn't have happened otherwise.

"Are you okay?" Tailgate lightly tugs on his hand.

"Mm? Yeah." Fulcrum offers a smile. "I'm all right. Thanks for the help."

There's a pleased glow in Tailgate's visor. "Well, y'know. Anytime. I'm good with standing around and holding your hand."

"Don't get cheeky," Fulcrum says wryly, grinning. "Ah, anyway. We should get back to fixing up the ship."

"Yeah." After some consideration, Tailgate glances up at him. "Um. Hey. Fulcrum?"

"Hey?"

"Would you mind keeping stuff about me a secret? For now?"

Without any hesitation, Fulcrum nods and says, "I will. If that's what you need. I don't mind, Tailgate."

Relieved, Tailgate bumps his side lightly against Fulcrum's. "Thank you."

"Of course."

 

-=-=-

 

The pace of work improves in the ship in total. Whatever it was that Crankcase had to say to Fulcrum, it's worked and the K-Con is back in order. He'll ask later, but for the moment, Krok is just relieved that the ship is getting the attention that it deserves. That and it seems like his mechanic isn't in as much of a bad mood; any improvement to Crankcase is something he's more than glad to have. 

The whole situation is grossly complicated and Krok does not revel in it. It'd be easier if they could just get back to Cybertron and not have to worry about the Autobots, but if Fulcrum's report is correct, they'd have worse to deal with if they got back to Cybertron anyway. The matters between the _Lost Light_ and the _Weak Anthropic Principle_ are probably going to get difficult no matter how it's handled, and he needs to remind himself of the delicate Autobot sensitivities. Which is why they haven't just thrown Stafe's graying frame out into the sand, but rather it's been stored in the medbay for now. The Autobots probably will want it and will wish to perform some sort of ceremonial thing.

It's also tempting to just toss Chromedome out, too. Shoot him, maybe. Krok isn't thrilled with having him here, considering, but it wouldn't be a good idea.

" _Engines are finished up,_ " Crankcase announces. " _The whole scrapheap still isn't in great condition, but we can fly again as soon as we're done fueling up._ "

"Good. Fulcrum, check in."

" _I'm almost done. I'll let you know when we can contact the Autobots,_ " Fulcrum responds. " _Um. Krok? I'm sorry for how I was acting before._ "

Krok exhales softly. "There's a lot going on. Apology accepted." After a brief pause, he adds in faint amusement, "Get your aft back to work."

" _Yes sir._ "

"Spinister, down to the cargo bay with me. Misfire, you too."

After a couple of responses of confirmations, Krok starts to make his way down to the cargo bay. The way he figures it, it's time to see how the Duly Appointed Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord's recovery is going. He isn't interested in making a discussion about what happened with Strafe and everything else; Ultra Magnus doesn't have to agree with him. That doesn't matter.

Once Krok arrives in the cargo bay and spots the Autobot, he has to pause and peer at him. "Well. Hm."

Somewhere along the line, Grimlock in his reptilian mode has somehow decided to make himself comfortable in Magnus's lap. The insecticon has done similarly, curling up and purring in content.

"This was not my idea," Ultra Magnus informs Krok firmly.

"I wouldn't have thought so," Krok muses. "I guess asking you if you can move is beside the point."

"Mobility has returned to my arms. I can't be certain of my legs."

"We'll look into it."

It isn't long until his surgeon and Misfire both arrive, walking up behind Krok. While Misfire laughs outright at the way Ultra Magnus has accumulated the Dynobot and insecticon alike, Spinister seems largely indifferent.

"Misfire," Ultra Magnus grumbles.

"Right, right." The jet snorts and giggles. "Okay, I'll get 'em off. Hey, Grimsie! Grimmy! C'mon, nap later!"

With a groan of annoyance, Grimlock follows Misfire's coaxing, stumbling away from his place on Ultra Magnus's lap. Without much effort, Misfire scoops up Bob under an arm and steps back in order to put the sleepy insecticon out of the way. 

As soon as the Dynobot is out of the way, Spinister approaches Ultra Magnus to do some observation. He grunts to himself, poking and prodding at the joints and pinching some wires. Generally, the enforcer just looks uncomfortable, but he says nothing nor expresses pain. Despite Spinister's simple mindset to most, Krok knows he's damned good at his trade. He's a good doctor even if he gets a bit out of focus sometimes.

Eventually, Spinister glances up at Ultra Magnus. "Test out your ankles and knees?"

"Mm." Ultra Magnus's legs twitch before his left knee slowly bends. The right seems to have some difficulty. "An improvement."

"Well, you sure as hell aren't walking far, though." Spinister shrugs. "Just keep fueling up when you can. Pretty sure your crew can pick up the rest or something."

"...Thank you." Ultra Magnus looks at Krok. "Concerning Strafe..."

"I'm not interested in discussing it," Krok states, hoping that makes his stance very clear.

"I understand that you were protecting your crew." The frown doesn't decrease from Ultra Magnus's grim expression, but at least he doesn't seem as furious as before. "I still don't think it was right. Technically, I should arrest you."

With a sigh of annoyance, Krok shrugs. "That's as close as we're going to get to some kind of resolution, I'm thinking. I'm not real concerned about how you feel about how I handled it. ...But I suppose your understanding is appreciated." The war historian cycles his vents. "In any case, we should be ready to take off as soon as we contact the _Lost Light._ Fulcrum's almost done with communication repairs. You'll be off of here soon enough."

"Noted." Ultra Magnus pauses, then adds, "Thank you."

The politeness just earns an amused snort from Krok before he turns and leaves. While Misfire takes it as a note to stay -- the talkative jet's interest in Ultra Magnus hardly subtle to Krok, which is quickly becoming concerning -- Spinister shrugs and takes it as his job being done, leaving with Krok. As he starts to head back up to the bridge of the ship, Krok considers briefly.

He supposes it's not simple for anyone to accept that their enemy, former or otherwise, basically shot their crewmate's head off, to simplify the matter and summarize it. There's nothing that can convince Krok that he was wrong, but the fact that _Ultra Magnus_ states he understands, well.

Well, that's something, but Krok isn't interested in getting to know an Autobot brig anytime soon.

"Fulcrum?" Krok asks as he reaches the bridge.

"Hey," the technician greets him, still working with his arms elbow-deep into the console. "It's kind of a sloppy set up, but I'm almost done getting this wired. Just another minute or two."

"How's Ultra Magnus?" Tailgate pipes up.

"Functional," Krok says.

"Improving, even. Dunno when he can walk, but his arms can move and stuff," Spinister offers. "How's your visor feeling?"

Tailgate rubs his helm. "Cracked, but it's not bad. Still stinging."

"We're fueled," Crankcase announces as he reaches the bridge. Addressing Fulcrum, he snaps with, "Well?"

"I'm sorry, but I had to rewire this _whole thing_ ," Fulcrum mutters.

"If you weren't moping before--"

"I wasn't moping!"

"Enough," Krok says with a sigh. "Crankcase, sit and get ready. Fulcrum, just worry about finishing up."

Obediently, both go silent; the pilot scoots by the others in order to reach his seat while Fulcrum gets back to work, even as Tailgate crouches by him. Fortunately, the little disposal unit doesn't seem to be a distraction, so Krok has little to say in concern to his presence.

Another few minutes pass by and Fulcrum gives a nod of confirmation. "Okay. We should be good."

"Finally," Crankcase mutters, but despite the word his tone almost implicates _good job_ , something that they're all used to. Reaching to a few buttons and switches to get the _Weak Anthropic Principle_ started up, lights come online and to Krok's relief, he hears the familiar sputter and roar of the engine, as if the ship is desperately clinging to life, much like the rest of them.

Fulcrum pulls away from the console, stepping back to allow Crankcase and Krok some room. "Crankcase, try to contact the _Lost Light_ ," the Decepticon captain instructs.

"All right, all right. This better work." Crankcase pauses to tune the signal before switching on the ship's radio link in order to contact the Autobot ship. " _Lost Light_ , this is the _Weak Anthropic Principle._ Can you respond?"

There's a pause and static fills the speakers before a wary voice responds with, " _Hello? I hope this is still functional._ "

"Rung?" Tailgate says, a bit surprised.

"Where's Blaster? Or Siren, I guess," Fulcrum asks.

" _Preoccupied with the battle. Not that there's much left, but I'm afraid we've been busy since the crash._ " There's a pause, then a grateful tone, " _I'm glad you're both still online. May I ask who I was speaking to?_ "

"Crankcase," the mechanic grunts.

" _Crankcase, I'm not certain if your captain is nearby to talk to, but I'd like to ask if Ultra Magnus is alive?_ "

"Yep. Not 100%, but apparently he's doing okay."

" _Good. Thank you for helping him._ "

Crankcase scowls. "I didn't say we helped him."

" _I'd like to think that the company Fulcrum keeps has decent intentions,_ " Rung says politely. " _So thank you once more._ "

"Whatever," Crankcase mutters, looking almost sheepish.

"Rung, is your captain available?" Krok cuts in.

" _No. The last I saw Rodimus, he was in the middle of battle and using some very crude language._ "

Krok shakes his head. "Try to pass this message along for us: we're going to stop by and drop off your Autobots. All of them. When the battle's finished, I'll have a report due to your captain. Do _not_ fire upon us, or we'll return fire."

" _I see. I'll take deliver your message. I'm certain we'd also appreciate any assistance you might be able to offer, but I understand that you don't necessarily owe us any._ "

"We'll be there, I expect in no more then ten minutes." Krok reaches up to announce on the ship's intercom. "Get your afts in gear. We're headed to the Autobots. Shoot any organics you see. Do not open fire on Autobots unless fired upon first."

 

-=-=-

 

Pit, Fulcrum really hopes this doesn't boil down to a fight with anyone. He sighs warily as he heads down to his room in order to prep, knowing Tailgate is following him.

"Hey, um." Tailgate reaches for his wrist. "Fulcrum. Do you know what you'll do? After we reach everyone else."

"I..."

When the _W.A.P._ reaches the _Lost Light_ , he'll need to make a choice. That's not something he feels is going to be easy. He can either decide to stay with the Autobots and endure their company in order to be with Tailgate, or he can stay with Krok and the others and wander with his friends through the galaxy to find someplace to call home, because apparently Cybertron is a horrible idea right now.

Not much of a choice, and he wishes that there could be a third option.

"I don't know," Fulcrum says helplessly. "If I could just somehow..."

"I won't ask you to stay with me if you can't," Tailgate says, his voice strained. The offer is difficult for him, and Fulcrum can understand wanting to selfishly keep him.

Honestly, if Fulcrum could keep Tailgate here on his ship, he'd be happy with that, too, but he'd never ask Tailgate to part from his friends, either.

"Whatever happens--" Fulcrum starts.

"I love you, too."

For now, there isn't much more time to spend worrying on much else.


End file.
